Arioch
by Hoodoo
Summary: A mutant is asked to join the Brotherhood, and her experiences therein. Features Toad.
1. Arioch 1: Join Up

Disclaimer: all recognizable characters belong to Marvel or 20th Century Fox. Any others are products of my own imagination.

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Arioch 1: Join Up

Quinn sat alone at the bar, ignoring all the commotion—the loud band, the dancing, the hooking up—around her. At least, part of her mind ignored it; the other part was carefully scanning the area and was intimately aware of everything happening.

At clubs she drank beer. It was less expensive than liquor, and less likely to get her cut off quickly. She was down to a few swallows in the longneck.

Before she could signal the bartender for another, however, he came over and set a fresh drink down in front of her. 

"What's up, Russ?" she asked, bewildered.

The bartender cocked his head down the bar slightly. "Guy down the way sent it, honey. He's been checking you out all night. You should return the favor—he's kinda hot."

Quinn cautiously looked down the bar, passed the other patrons. A man was watching her; noticing her glance, he made a slight movement with his hand to catch her attention. He seemed fairly indistinguishable—short, slightly balding—from any other guy looking to score in the bar.

She accepted the bottle from Russell.

"Hey," he said, leaning close, "you tell me if you hook up with him. You know I'm a jealous queen, but I live vicariously through you!"

She smiled broadly at him and grabbed his collar. "You're the best, Russ!" she laughed. "I always tell you you're too gorgeous to be queer."

"Us gorgeous ones are always married or gay," he replied, returning the smile. "But I don't think mystery man down there is either one. Go for it, girl! You haven't been laid in months!"

"Still trying to talk you straight, that's all." Quinn stretched across the bar and kissed Russell's cheek.

"Don't do that!" he exclaimed. "You'll scare him off—"

He cut himself off as the man walked up behind Quinn. Quinn gave Russ a wink and let him go. Russ backed away, and she turned her attention to the stranger. She carelessly tipped the fresh beer into her mouth, automatically assessing him as well as cataloging the weapons she carried.

'Nice eyes, well dressed, haven't seen him around here before—got that little pistol in the boot—doesn't look like he belongs here—knife on my right thigh? Left? That's it—let's see what this guy wants.'

He looked uncomfortable a few more seconds, while Quinn waited patiently. Finally he cleared his throat.

"Hi. I'm Victor."  
"Uncommon name."

"And yours would be . . .?"

"Quinn."

"Quinn. That's . . . nice." 

She watched him. His uneasiness didn't go away.

"Listen," he said quickly, "I've been watching you all night. I'm sure the bartender told you. Is there some place a little less crowded that we could go and talk?"

Quinn raised the bottle to her mouth and her eyebrows at the same time. She smiled slightly. "You don't waste much time, Victor."

"Oh!" he exclaimed, flustered. He didn't seem to know what to do with his hands. They clutched themselves desperately. "To be honest, I find you very attractive. Not many women can wear leather so . . . well. It was the first thing I noticed."

She was a bit confused, a bit flattered. He obviously didn't do the bar scene very often, if at all. It was a little amusing.

"The leather," he repeated, as if mesmerized by it. "I was hoping to get to talk to you, and maybe . . .."  
His voice trailed off and he regarded her seriously for a second. He gave a curt nod, as if coming to a conclusion, and took a step toward her. Quinn immediately tensed and reflexively grasped the handle of the knife on her left leg. Victor only leaned next to her to whisper in her ear, 

"I know who you are, Arioch. My employer would like to hire your services."

He stepped back, looking apprehensive.

Quinn regarded him critically. The nerves, she now knew, were an act. The whispered voice was solid and firm. He spoke her name directly. She took another swallow from the bottle, scrutinizing him as she did so.

Abruptly she stood up from the stool. 

"All right," she told him. "I know where we can talk."

He flashed her a smile and waited as she set the beer back on the bar. She caught Russell's eye, blew him a kiss, and threw a few bills down. She turned back to Victor.

"Come on."

~~~~~

She allowed him to put a protective hand around her waist as she led him through the crowd. Outside, the cool air bit into and cleared their smoke-filled lungs. Quinn took him only a few steps to a staircase in the same building as the bar. She made her way up the narrow, creaking steps, skipping the next to the last riser; it was loose.

She smiled to herself as Victor hit the step and stumbled. Ignoring his quiet curse, she continued down the darkened hallway to door number 201. 

The lock stuck—it always did—and Quinn gave it a satisfying kick before it finally opened with a protesting groan. Graciously she moved aside and ushered Victor in. Following him in, she locked the door behind them.

Victor stood in the center of the small, cluttered room. The pounding music from the local band in the club downstairs made the floor tremble slightly. The expression on his face was disgusted.

"Problem?" Quinn asked. Sauntering passed him, she fell backward into a lumpy chair and looked up at him. Now that she knew she was only dealing with a flunky, she felt less of an urge to be polite and on her toes. "You were expecting the Ritz?"

"The caliber of your reputation led me to believe you'd be higher class than this." The earlier nervousness he had displayed in the bar was completely gone. He didn't bother to hide the displeasure in his voice.

"Ooh—caliber of reputation," she replied sarcastically. "That's fancy. What exactly is my caliber?"

"My employer has been informed that you are the best. That is one of the reasons he has sent me to contact you. He has a employment opportunity for you."

"If he knows I'm the best, he knows my fee isn't cheap."

"He knows."

Quinn studied the man in front of her. She uncrossed her legs. The sound of leather sliding on leather made no impression on Victor, no matter what he proclaimed downstairs. There was something . . . different about him. She couldn't finger it. Pushing that particular problem from the front of her mind, she asked,

"Who's your boss?"

Victor gave her a crooked smile. "I'm not in the position to divulge that information."

"I suppose you can't tell me what the job is either."

"No. My instructions were to ask you to accompany me to meet with my employer. He will have all the information available for you." He paused. She remained silent. "Are you interested? I have a helicopter waiting."

Quinn considered the vague offer. Nothing had been defined. Nothing had been clear. Still . . . despite herself she was intrigued. Only rarely did she meet with a bootlicker and agree to see his boss; she preferred to have the person paying her salary to be bold enough to seek her out themselves. But the weird aura around this Victor . . . they had known to call her by her trade name. That meant they were serious . . ..

Decisively, Quinn nodded. "All right, Vic. Give me a few minutes to powder my nose. You call a cab, and I'll go meet your chief."

~~~~~

The automatic digging into her side was a nagging pain, but Quinn disregarded it with the ease of familiarity. Her black leather duster covered any evidence she was packing. She shifted in the helicopter's seat, straining to recognize anything out the tiny window. 

Nothing. Still looked like water.

Her escort had fallen silent in the taxi, and remained that way during the flight. He had spoken in hushed tones to the pilot when they boarded. Quinn had labored to catch any of the conversation, but had only picked up a mumbled British accent. 

This whole situation was screwy.

Quinn sighed mentally and shifted in her position again. Victor ignored her.

Finally, with her ears popping, she realized the helicopter was descending sharply. Again she looked out the window. Only blackness.

"I hope your pilot knows what he's doing," she joked, half serious.

"He does."

In only a few seconds, the chopper leveled off. Now she could see the diminutive lights indicating a landing pad. The helicopter landed smoothly.

Victor become animated again and smiled at her. "Are you ready?"

"Do I have a choice?"

The grin hardened slightly. He recomposed himself and stood, and offered Quinn a hand. She shook it off and bounded out the open door before him. His smile faded and he followed her out. To her surprise, the pilot didn't.

The distant sounds of waves and crisp air told her they were no longer on the mainland. There were no lights, save the one indicating a doorway set into a craggy cliff. Below her feet was a smooth landing pad; beyond that, hardy weeds clung to life in the sandy soil. Victor led her through the small meadow toward the door.

Quinn glanced back to the helicopter. It was completely shut down, but there was still no sign of the pilot. 

Screwy.

She shrugged, another bit of mystery to chew over later, and turned her attention to the crunching noise her steel-toed boots made. In a few seconds, they were at the door.

Victor opened the heavy door for her and stood aside. Just as she walked through, a stealthy movement caught her eye, near the chopper. Reflexively Quinn spun around and strained to peer through the darkness. There were too many shadows to make anything definite out.

Victor had noticed it as well. Immediately he took her shoulders and turned her, back to the door and the hallway it opened to. 

"Don't be startled," he told her. The pressure he applied on her shoulders moved her through the doorway as he continued. "There are lots of indigenous animals on this island. Birds and lizards and such. They tend to stay out of sight."

Quinn thought his voice was a little loud, and managed to glimpse him turn his head as if his last statement addressed the darkness as well. She pretended to accept his explanation. It took a lot of willpower not to look back. 

Victor swiftly led her away from the door, down the brightly lit hallway. The entire place seemed carved from the rocks. Several closed doors lined the walls, but none had a window. The hum of machinery could be heard behind some of them. They passed through a large, open room. It's ceiling was high overhead, and a quiet tidal rivulet ran though it.

"Cool design," Quinn said.

Victor ignored her.

They passed out of the room and entered another tangle of hallways. Quinn, as was her nature, attempted to memorize their path. Abruptly Victor stopped in front of the largest door of all. It looked made of steel—like a bank vault.

Victor paused a second. "Are you carrying weapons?" he asked bluntly. Quinn shook her head easily. He shrugged and almost placed a hand on the door.

Quinn could see he didn't touch it. The door seemed to swing on it's own accord.

A distinguished man, seated behind a large desk, stood as the door opened into his chamber. 

"Ah, Quinn!" he exclaimed, delighted, coming around the desk to greet her. "Please, do come in."

Cautiously, she entered the room. The man offered his arm, which she took gingerly. He smiled at her, and covered the hand in his arm with his own. Over his shoulder he told Victor, 

"Thank you very much. I'll call if I need you again."

Quinn saw Victor give a short bow of his head, and back out of the doorway. The heavy door closed on it's own.

The hand that topped her own was warm and dry, free of calluses. A gentleman's hand. He made little sound as they walked across the obviously metal floor, while her boots clacked. The quiet sigh of leather-on-leather also seemed amplified.

The gentleman didn't speak until he offered her a chair. Again, she couldn't determine if he made direct contact with it or not, but it slid toward her. She accepted his overture and sat down, crossing her legs. She watched him return behind the desk.

Normally she would wait for the other person to speak, especially since she was the one invited and her services were in demand. However, he watched her as she watched him, and eventually she broke her own rule.

"So. From your demeanor, can I safely assume your Victor's boss?" she asked respectfully.

"Victor?" His raised eyebrows were the only indication he gave of being bewildered. It was covered quickly. "Ah yes. Victor. I am his employer."

Quinn puzzled over his confusion, then dismissed it.

He continued. "I am Erik Magnus Lehnsherr."

"Quinn," she offered.

"I am aware of your name. And of your pseudonym. Arioch." He chuckled. "That's quite appropriate, considering your chosen work. I like it."

"Thanks," she replied sincerely. "Not many people get it."

Erik gave her a dry smile. "I don't believe many people are versed in medieval demonology."

"Very true."

They fell into silence again. Erik's gray eyes studied her, and finally Quinn sat back, semi-frustrated.

"I don't mean to sound ungrateful—for the cool helicopter ride in the middle of the night to who-the-hell-knows-where and the mysterious atmosphere and everything—but why exactly did you send Victor after me? I don't mind job offers, but usually people are a little more up front, you know?"

"I have been informed, by very reliable sources, that you are the best," he replied vaguely.

Now she sighed aloud. "Great. That's not something I might say myself, but I always like hearing it from other people. And twice in one night! It must be true." Quinn pushed herself out of the chair.

"Arioch, please sit back down," Erik said, in a firm voice. It was a tone that was accustomed to people obeying it. She sat back down. "Thank you. I do have a job offer for you. It may not be the same as your past assignments, however. 

"I will tell you the truth. I am a mutant. _Homo sapien superior._ The others living on here are the same. I have dedicated this island as a safe haven for mutants, and extend hospitality for any and all mutants who feel persecuted. That is one reason I brought you here." He noticed the enraged look on Quinn's face and laughed out loud. "Please, Quinn, my dear! I have done my research. I know you are one of us, and what your particular mutation can do."

"Okay—so you know I can knock on your ass," she replied shortly. "Did you also know I can do this?"

Her hand moved faster than her words, and by the time the question was finished, her automatic was unholstered and aimed at his amused face. The barrel and hand holding it were steady.

Erik's smile grew wider, but not warmer. "Actually," he answered, "I did. Now watch me."

He held his hand out, palm up. The gun shook. Before she could react, it flew from her grasp and into his waiting fingers. Gently, almost as an after thought, he pinched the end of the barrel. Removing his fingertips, the tip remained crimped. Quinn stared at her now-empty fist, stunned.

"And the knives?" he continued, reaching with his other hand. From their hidden sheaths, one in her boot, one on her forearm, they freed themselves and landed on the metal desk. He made a circular motion with his forefinger, and the sharpened blades twisted themselves.

Again she was speechless. 

"Would you like to see what I can do with those steel-toes boots of yours?" Erik asked civilly. "I believe I can knock you on _your_ ass."

Quinn licked her bottom lip, calculating whether it was worth trying to grab her gun, or if she should just make a break for it. Remembering the entire room was metal, however, she decided the best course of action was to sit back down.

"Thank you. Hopefully, another display won't be necessary."

She shook her head.

"Good! I told you the particular task I had in mind for you was not the same, perhaps, as your others. I simply need you as a . . . bodyguard. Someone who can lay down fire as a protection, should a situation require it."

"I thought you said everyone here was a mutant," she said. "Can't they defend themselves?"

The smile he gave her this time was saddened. "Unfortunately, none of the persecuted—with the exception of myself—have long range abilities. That may change, of course. But for now, if they are attacked, they need someone to make their escape a bit easier."

Despite of her initial shock, Quinn slipped into negotiating mode. "And I suppose they would need cover fire because they would be involved in . . . not the most legal of endeavors?"

Erik didn't deny it. "With your past, dear Quinn, I can hardly believe something as trivial as legality would bother you."

"Touché."

He allowed her to think over his proposition. "Perhaps," he added, "this will aid your decision."

A thin slip of paper was passed over the table to her. Quinn reached for it, careful not to touch his hand when she accepted it. Unfolding the note, she kept the surprise from showing on her face only by biting the inside of her cheek. The amount written on the slip, in a precise, flowing hand, was high.

She cleared her throat. Finally she was able to remark, "Does this come with a uniform allowance?"

Erik granted her a real smile. "It is acceptable to you?"

"Yeah."

"Excellent! I only ask that you be available to me when I request. If you could forgo any other . . . business opportunities, I would appreciate that as well."

She nodded. "That's fair. Do you know how long you'll need my services?"

"Unfortunately, no. A month, maybe two? Hopefully our agreement will be an open one. I can have the money wired to any account you choose."

"I have a Swiss account."

"Of course."

"What about accommodations? Is it all right for me to stay in New York?"

He sat back. "Preferably, no. There may be situations we would need you immediately, and you would have no time to reach us. I have plenty of space—empty rooms with plumbing—that can easily be converted into living areas."

Quinn nodded thoughtfully. "Okay. I need a place to lay low for awhile anyway. The Crown Prince of Jordan was a little upset his fiancée lost her life a week before the wedding."

Again he looked amused. "I had wondered who pulled off such a political assassination. Can you tell me who . . .?"

"Who requested it?" Quinn finished for him, and smiled. "Sorry, Erik. Client confidentiality. Let's just say it was someone who had high stakes in the Middle East staying as disrupted as possible. It makes conducting a war so much easier.

"But as I was saying—it's no problem for me to stay here. I just need to pick up a few things from New York. Can I borrow your chopper and pilot?"

"Absolutely!" he replied, standing up. She followed suit, and he joined her on her side of the desk. He began to offer his arm again, then paused. "Your weapons," he explained, retrieving them from the desk's surface. Handing all three back to her, she noticed they were normal again.

"And what do they call you?" Quinn asked, taking his arm again.

"Magneto," came the dignified reply.

"Never would've guessed," she mumbled half under her breath, and allowed him to lead her out of his metal chamber, back into the labyrinth of hallways she would now call home.

  



	2. Arioch 2: So this is it?

Disclaimer: any recognizable characters belong to Marvel and 20th Century Fox. Any others are products of my very own imagination.

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Arioch 2: So this is it? 

Boooring.

Quinn had been here two weeks, and was bored to death. And lonely. 

Erik had escorted her to one of his empty rooms, available as an apartment, and she accepted it. He had offered Victor's services, as well as the enigmatic pilot's, to retrieve the things she needed from New York . . ..

~~~~~~

Victor hadn't seemed surprised the address Quinn gave him was different than the one above the bar. They took a taxi van, leaving the pilot again. 

"I've got lots of stuff," Quinn pointed out. "We could use your guy up front to help us."

But Victor only acted annoyed and refused to even ask the pilot.

"Okay," Quinn muttered. "It's your back." 

She had tried to make small talk in the taxi, but got only stony stares as a response. She finally quit.

At the uptown apartment, Quinn quickly loaded the items she thought she'd need into suitcases designed with secret compartments to conceal the numerous weapons she also packed. Since she expected to be gone for some time, books, CDs, her stereo, several leather dusters (various colors), a majority of her clothing, and a pillow from the bed were loaded.

"Can't sleep without my favorite pillow!" she joked. "You know?"

He looked even more annoyed and disgusted.

It made Quinn angry. "Hey, listen, Vic. Your boss is now mine too, so get used to it, okay? He's paying me, he's paying you—let's make the best of it."

"Erik is _paying_ you?" Victor spat at her.

"Well, duh! You don't get Arioch for free. He hired me to cover your mutant asses. I'm your bodyguard, baby."

Victor's face twisted into a mask of malevolence. It didn't dissuade Quinn's mood.

"Is that your ability? Making yourself uglier?"

"You bitch!" Victor hissed.

The insult didn't startle Quinn, his voice did. A woman's voice. 

"What the fuck—"

Victor, unexpectedly, took a swing at her. Only her instinctive reflexes moved her away in time. Quinn scrambled away, watching Victor alertly. Automatically she flicked open a butterfly knife, moving to keep the coffee table between them both.

"Come on, Vic. What the fuck? What's your ability?" she taunted.

Victor watched her maneuver closely, and visibly regained his composure. "Quinn—Arioch, whatever you're called. I'm surprised that Erik didn't inform you of the mutants you'd be working with. Do you realized that you and he will be the only two of our little group who pass for normal?"

"What?"

Victor smiled evilly. "Have you ever really dealt with mutants, Arioch? Real mutants, who don't look human?"

"Well, yeah—down at the bar—but that doesn't explain your ugliness."  
He scowled again, and seemed to shimmer. The clothing disappeared. His face melted. A dark blue, golden eyed woman, covered in—scales?!—stood in his place. It threw Quinn off enough to make her miss her step as the woman lunged forward.

The woman landed a kick squarely in her stomach, knocking the wind from her. She dropped to the couch behind her, and instantly the woman was on her, holding her in place with a knee on the back of her neck. She grabbed Quinn's hair and forced her head up slightly. Quinn grit her teeth, panting through them, but was immobile.

"Listen to me, you fucking bitch!" the blue woman seethed through clenched teeth. "Don't you ever—_ever_—call me ugly again. I don't care if Magneto's hired you to lick his ass—I will fucking kill you!" 

Quinn's breath had returned. "Get off me, you blue skinned freak!"

The woman screamed intelligibly. She yanked Quinn's hair and rabbit punched her in the back of the head. Quinn, through her dizziness, managed to twist enough to move the knife between them, managing to slice off a few scales along the way. The woman jerked back at the pain.

"At least you bleed like normal," Quinn observed dryly.

It caused the blue woman to shriek again and lurch toward her again, but before any other blows had landed, the woman's comm link beeped.

The British pilot's voice came through. "Mystique, what the bloody blazes is keeping you two?" it crackled, loud enough for Quinn to hear. "It'll be my hide if we're not back soon!"

"We're coming, Toad!" Mystique shouted back, a hand at her ear.

"Toad?" Quinn blurted, and rolled her eyes. "Oh, this ought to be good."

Mystique gave her an evil look. "Give us a few more minutes—something came up—"

"My lunch!" interrupted Quinn. 

Another look.

"—we'll be in the taxi shortly."  
"Her lunch?" Toad asked through the speaker. "What the hell?"

But Mystique switched the comm off without answering him and glared at Quinn. She smiled back.

"Let's go, bitch," Mystique spit. "We'll settle this later."

"Any time, cunt."

An expression that only women can muster, maintain, and survive passed between the two. Without another word they both struggled the numerous suitcases and boxes to the van.

~~~~~

That had been fifteen days ago, and Quinn hadn't seen Mystique since. She hadn't met the pilot, Toad, either, but once glimpsed an enormous man on the other side of the cavernous room. He was gone before she could call out to him.

She'd arranged her room, and rearranged it. Erik consented to letting her have another room to hang a punching bag, but there was only so much working out she could take in one day. Quinn was reduced to wandering the hallways.

"Thank god for booze and music," she said aloud to herself, running a hand along the rough wall as she roamed. "What have we learned today, kiddies? One. These walls were somehow carved from solid rock, but no drilling tools have been found. Two. Don't leave your room, Quinn, without your damn Walkman. Three. Erik said there were mutants who lived here, but there's very little evidence of that."

She'd been walking passed the hangar, and noticed a movement as the words left her lips.

"Wait a minute—a sign of life!" she exclaimed to herself, and darted inside.

Quinn walked around the helicopter.

Someone was hanging, half under the panel of the cockpit, half out the door. The shoes she saw were scuffed, the pant legs were tattered. A rip in one knee revealed greenish colored skin underneath.

Muttered curses, in a British accent, accompanied the sounds of tinkering.

"Who're you?" Quinn blurted out.

There was an explosion of movement from the person as he righted himself in the cockpit. Not expecting such a reaction, it startled her and she stepped back, hand on a pistol. It comforted her, but she jumped again as he looked down on her and she got a good look at him.

The face was green, the hair spiky—and his piercing eyes: oddly colored and liquid, magnified by the goggles he wore.

He ripped them off his face and glared at her. "What the blazes do you think you're doing?" he shouted.

"Hey—relax, buddy!" She was fascinated with his eyes. "I just wanted to meet you."  
"This is a restricted area!" he replied, still glaring.

"Erik didn't say anything about restricted areas," Quinn countered. She slid the gun back into it's holster, and extended her hands. "See? Nothing to worry about."

He didn't look convinced.

She sighed. "I'm sorry to bother you. I was just walking by, wondering where all these people Erik mentioned who live here might be, and here you are! I'm Arioch."

He dropped lightly to the ground, and settled into a crouch, continuing to watch her suspiciously.

"I know who you are," he answered.

"Do you?" This irritated her a bit, not happy that she had less knowledge than he.

"Yeah. I've watched you."  
"Really." This was even more disturbing. "And what have you seen?"

"You wandering around, like you don't know what to do with yourself. You talking to yourself. You working that punching bag, acting like it's Mystique."

He _had_ been watching her.

"I suppose you know what I sleep in too," she spit.

It caught him off guard. "N-no!"

Quinn narrowed her eyes, but he seemed to be telling the truth. She forced herself to relax again.

"Okay, so you're a stalker," she told him lightly. "What's your name?"

"I am not a stalker!" 

She shrugged. "Then why have you been following me around?"

He sunk even lower on his heels. When he answered, she had to strain to hear his voice. "'Cause you're the most normal person Magneto's ever brought here. I wanted to see what you were like."

Confused by his explanation, Quinn could only say, "I'm really not that normal. I'm a mutant too. And I kill people for money. That's about as far from average as you can get."

"Not like I would know . . ." he muttered.

More confused, she didn't reply.

The silence stretched between them.

"So . . ." Quinn finally said, "what was your name again?"

He looked up at her quickly. She flashed him a smile.

"I'm—" he cleared his throat. "—Toad. Mortimer Toynbee."

Quinn put her hands on her hips and studied him critically. "And—you're British, right?"

Toad's boy-are-you-stupid expression made her laugh.

"It was a joke, Morty!" she chuckled. "If the accent didn't give it away, the name sure would!"

He bristled, but gradually realized she wasn't laughing at him. Generally.

"Listen, Toad—you wanna get something to eat? All the walking has made me hungry. 'Normal' people eat lunch about noon, and I'm sick of eating by myself in my room."

"You—you're inviting me . . .."

Quinn noted his shocked expression and disregarded it. "To my room?" she finished. "Well, yeah. Unless there's some central cafeteria in this place that I haven't found yet."

"N-no, no, I . . . can't. I can't," Toad stuttered, shaking his head, automatically going with the first response he could formulate. "M-magneto wants me to finish. Finish this—" his hand waved obscurely to the helicopter. "—this repair."

Disappointment clouded her voice. "Okay. I understand." She looked back up, into those strange eyes. "But hey—any time. Just come on by. Knock on the door—knock really loud if you hear music."

Quinn turned on her heel and walked from the room. She never saw the baffled and dazed expression on Toad's face. She never knew he couldn't finish his work on the helicopter that day, but instead retreated to his ledge, puzzled. She only knew that she was bored again, and still lonely.


	3. Arioch 3: Hurt

Disclaimer: Any recognizable characters belong to Marvel and/or 20th Century Fox. Any others belong with the rest of the voices in my head.

Note: Although this was written to be in the 'movie' story line, many of the X-men are true to the comics.

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Arioch 3: Hurt

"Goddamn it, Arioch—you're supposed to be covering us!"

Mystique's shrieking order exploded in Arioch's ear through the comm. Quickly she hissed back through the microphone,

"I'm watching the back, just like _you_ ordered, bitch. Nothing's gotten passed me—"

"That's because all the action is in here!" the shapeshifter interrupted. "Now move your ass and do your job—"

Mystique's voice was disconnected with a large explosion. The outburst was so loud Arioch ripped the earpiece from her head. The damage was done, however; her left ear felt numb and her hearing was deadened.

"Shit!" Arioch swore, spitting out her gum and scrambling up from her spot outside the rear entrance of the museum. Simultaneously readying her assault rifle and re-adjusting the comm to fit her right ear, she kicked open the jimmied back door. 

"Mystique!" she called into the microphone. "Can you hear me? Can anyone hear me?"

None of the Brotherhood answered coherently. Swearing, more explosions, and the unmistakable sounds of hand to hand fighting filled her ear. Again she tore the useless comm from her head.

Giving up trying to contact another mutant, Arioch barreled down the hallway, to the exhibit area.

"Stupid Erik—insisting on breaking into a fucking museum!" she muttered to herself as she ran. "Who the hell cares about some stupid junk left over from the Holocaust—"

She cut herself off as she entered the large exhibits room and got her first look at mutant fighting mutant.

Per her and Magneto's oral contract, Arioch had accompanied other members of the Brotherhood whenever Magneto requested it. Usually it was breaking into high tech companies for hardware and software to supplement his latest doomsday device. Usually by the time the authorities and, presumably, the X-men were alerted, the Brotherhood was long gone from the premises.

Up to date, Arioch's skills hadn't been needed. The X-men had never come in time.

This time they had.

Quickly Arioch scanned the area, picking out members of the Brotherhood. Sabretooth was in his glory, taking huge swipes at Wolverine. Both of the feral men were already bloody, and both were laughing maniacally. Arioch pivoted her gaze to Mystique, who was being boxed in between Storm and Jean Grey. Toad, faced off with Beast, seemed to finally have met his match athletically.

"All righty then," Arioch whispered to herself, trying to determine who she could target first.

In the few seconds it took to decide, a sudden explosion of brilliant lights blinded her. Startled, her assault rifle was torn roughly from her grasp. Still half deaf and now sightless, Arioch stumbled backward and tripped. The breath was knocked from her, and she lay flat on her back.

"Loser!" a teenaged voice shouted at her. "Magneto sure picks real good ones, huh?"

"Come on, Jubilee," a woman's voice answered her. A deep Southern accent marked her as Rogue. "Ah got her gun. Let's just tie her up an' go help someone else."

"Right!"

Slowly Arioch's breath steadied. Her vision was still clouded with burned out spots, but not as much as before. She could sense the girl lean closer to her, and feigned unconsciousness. She cataloged the weapons available nearest to her left hand.

When Jubilee took her right arm, Arioch twisted and grabbed the girl. Jubilee shouted for help. She plucked a knife from the sheath on her thigh and was about to overpower the teenager with it, when she was suddenly flat on her back again, Rogue's foot on her shoulder. Rogue made a quick kick with her other foot, and the blade flew from Arioch's hand.

The kick made her hand numb. 

"Son of a bitch!" she swore.

"Don't you be messin' with Jubes," Rogue said sweetly. "She's got good friends an' we don't want her hurt."

Arioch grimaced in reply.

Rogue turned her attention to Jubilee. "You okay, girl?"

Shakily, she nodded.

"Good. Now, since this degenerate seems to have a buncha playthings, let's relieve her of 'em."

Jubilee nodded again and gingerly started going through Arioch's pockets. Even with Rogue's heavy foot on Arioch, the girl watched her out of the corner of her eye. She pulled various knives and another gun from the woman. From one pocket she retrieved a pair of handcuffs.

"You're missing the one in my boot," Arioch said with a sigh.

Jubilee searched it and discovered a nine-millimeter.

"We ain't fooled by ya actin' all sticky sweet now," Rogue informed her. "Jubes, take that paira cuffs. We'll put 'em to good use."

The stronger mutant forced Arioch to a sitting position with her hands behind her back. Jubilee handed her the cuffs and Rogue snapped them into position on her wrists.

Patting her on the head, Rogue said, "Now don't be goin' anywhere sugah. The cops'll wanna have a word with ya."

She and Jubilee laughed and left Arioch.

"Bitch," Arioch muttered. "That girl better never get a job as airport security."

Carefully she fished the handcuff key out of it's spot between her cheek and gum. With a quick glance to make sure everyone was still too involved with other things to notice her, Arioch spit the key to the floor. She scooted across the floor until the key was behind her, and with little effort, picked it up from the floor and set to work unlocking the cuffs.

As she did, she watched the rest of the Brotherhood get very surely beaten. Mystique was shuffled back and forth between two X-men. Her particular ability only worked as surprise, and here there was no chance of it. Rogue had joined Beast in trying to contain Toad. Even on the ceiling he couldn't escape her flight. Arioch saw him attempt to knock her from the air with his tongue, but she easily dodged it. Beast climbed the scaffolding to help her, but as Toad shifted his attention to the blue mutant, Rogue managed to come up from behind him and land a solid blow on him. Toad scrambled to regain his hold but it was obvious he was dazed. Even as Beast reached out to catch him, the amphibian mutant fell. Toad landed with a resounding thud on the granite flooring below.

"Shit!" Arioch willed her fingers to work faster.

Mystique was tired and sore. She too saw Toad fall and his motionless body. A quick glance told her Sabretooth was lost in his own red haze, battling Wolverine. She could hear sirens from outside the building.

Taking advantage of a slight reprieve from the two women, she put her hand to her ear and screamed, "Fall back! Sabretooth, Toad, Arioch—GO! The cops are here, don't be captured!"

The piercing shriek found its way even through Sabretooth's lust, and he heard the sirens as well. With a quick sneer, he grabbed Wolverine and slammed the smaller mutant into the wall. Wolverine slashed at him, but Sabretooth laughed, even as more blood poured from his arms.

"See you later, runt," he spit at him.

He dropped Wolverine. Before Wolverine could retaliate, he made his way to Mystique, knocked the unexpecting Storm and Jean Gray away brutally, and followed Mystique out the back way.

"Let them go," Arioch heard Jean say. "We've still got two of them to turn over to the cops."

"Huh-uh," Arioch thought. "You most definitely don't have me yet."

The cuffs snapped open. "Let's move, feet."

"Toad seems injured," she heard Beast say. "Possibly seriously. A fractured skull or worse."

Arioch glanced back and saw the X-men gathered around the still unconscious Toad. No one had noticed her yet.

"Oh shit," she thought blackly. "Goddamn Erik and his goddamn 'protect the Brotherhood' contract shit! I have no weapons, but I still have to get Toad out of here! Goddamn Mystique bailing like a bitch! Goddamn it!" 

Still swearing mentally, she snuck up behind the huddle of X-men.

Automatically she calculated a fifteen foot diameter from herself. It seemed that all the X-men could be caught by her mutant ability, if she could get close enough. Having been briefed on each of the X-men's particular mutations, Arioch knew Wolverine would be her biggest threat, even after being knocked out. He would recover the quickest.

They were all still crowded together, watching Beast attend the unconscious Toad. Arioch felt a stab of regret that the other member of the Brotherhood would be caught in her blast too.

"Sorry, Mort. But you're out of it anyway—this won't hurt too much."

She made her way as close to Wolverine's back as possible. It made her nervous, knowing at any second he could sense her and turn around. But amazingly he didn't, possibly distracted by his earlier fight and the ear-piercing sirens, and the second she thought all the X-men would be at least minutely affected by her blast Arioch concentrated and strained. 

A sphere of blinding white light accompanied by a shock wave of sound erupted from her body. Immediately the X-men contained completely in the blast area dropped to the floor. The few that were slightly further away were forced to their knees, holding their heads. As quickly as the sphere exploded, it was gone.

Not wasting any time, Arioch hopped over the fallen X-men and grabbed the still unconscious Toad. She hadn't realized how much he weighed, however, until she tried to pick him up and carry him.

"Son of a bitch!" she swore. The police were in the building now; she could hear their boots on the marble floor.

Having come this far, she refused to leave Toad now. She grabbed the amphibian mutants' ankles and gracelessly tugged him over the bodies surrounding them. She stopped only a second to retrieve a handgun from Jubilee's pocket.

Once passed the X-men, dragging Toad over the smooth floor was easier than she expected. It was still exhausting though, and by the time Arioch had pulled him back to the service entrance she was sweating and swearing under her breath. Luckily she knew the area, and was able to maneuver Toad to a former hiding spot close by. There she waited, cursing Mystique for bailing out, watching anxiously as Toad never moved, until the cops had left the area, convinced that the members of the Brotherhood were long gone.


	4. Arioch 4: Healing

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to Marvel and/or 20th Century Fox. Any others vie for control in my head.

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Arioch 4: Healing

One second Toad was unconscious; the next, awake.

He was prone on his back, his vision was blurred. His head turned quickly, back and forth, to take in his surroundings. He was rewarded with sharp, excruciating pain thudding behind his eyes. He did his best to ignore it, but a thin moan wormed its way from between his lips.

"Hey! Stop it!" A woman's voice startled him.

Instantly he was up, backing away, flight reflex in overdrive, scanning for an escape route. His first instinct was to leap; leap high, head to the ceiling—the ceiling, go—go, escape!

Toad vaulted. But his legs, his spine—so strong, so limber, and so faithful—foundered. His equilibrium was gone, his body betrayed him. He only managed to stumble forward, like a fool, and collapse. The agony in his head intensified. Another moan passed his lips, this time louder and tortured; as much from the failure of his limbs as from pain. 

As much as he impotently protested, he could not stop someone's hands from turning him upright.

His last defense. His tongue burst from his mouth, aiming approximately where a neck should be, to coil around it and strangle.

A warm hand snatched it from the air before it reached its target. 

No one had ever been able to do that.

"Knock it off, Toad!" the woman's voice commanded. "I'm trying to help you!"

With a gentle squeeze to warn him against doing it again, his tongue was released. It returned to its place obediently.

"Holy shit," the woman panted. "What the hell do you think you were doing? Where do you think you were going, anyway?"

Her questions were obviously rhetorical. Toad ignored her and concentrated on attempting to lessen the throbbing in his head. He was vaguely aware of her gently shifting his body into a more comfortable position, adding pillows beneath his knees and others on either side of his body so he could not rock.

Still focused on his inner turmoil, it came as a jolt for him to eventually realize his head rested in her lap.

The ache was fading, just faintly. Now he could feel her fingers, cautious and light, slipping through his hair. She was humming.

What is going on? he thought dumbly.

"Toad?" the woman murmured, as soft as her croon. "Do you know who I am?"

Death, he replied in thought. I never thought of you as a woman, and I never believed you'd be gentle with me . . ..

"You were hit hard—can you tell me who I am?"

Death shouldn't question herself.

"Please, Toad. Can you open your eyes? Just a little?"

. . .

"Please?"

Pleading with me. Being polite. Death treating me as if she cares. No one ever does that. What is going on?

She didn't ask again. Her fingers never stopped delicately massaging his spinning head. Humming filled his ears again.

Marked only by easy caresses and wordless tunes, an uncertain amount of time passed. The aching that dominated his world receded. He finally had the strength and willpower to open his eyes again. They felt—now that he could feel—swollen and hot.

A face swum into view.

"Arioch?" Toad croaked with a burning throat.

A quick smile, gone before it formed completely, flitted across her face.

"Arioch . . . I thought you were Death . . .."

"No," she replied, her voice quiet, as if she knew speaking loudly would damage him again. Even so, there was amusement in her tone. "I'm not Death, Toad. I'm just a minor demon."

He had no clue what she meant.

He tried to swallow; his mouth was too dry. His voice was still a rasp. "Where am I?"

"I brought you to my room."

Toad's watery eyes widened slightly.

"You were hit really hard," she continued. "I think it was Rogue. You lost your hold on the ceiling and fell—you landed on your head. Everyone else bolted, but I . . . I couldn't leave you there.

"I was going to get you back to your ledge. But you were bleeding from your ears, from your nose . . . and I . . ." Arioch paused, and dropped her eyes from his. "I didn't think you should be left alone. I brought you here so I could watch you and make sure you'd be okay."

Toad forced his hand to touch his nostrils and an ear. Unsteadily he brought it before his eyes. No blood. The scent of lavender soap wafted from his fingers. 

Seeing the motion, Arioch explained hurriedly, "I cleaned you up."

With a start, she realized her fingers were still brushing through his spiky hair. Her hands jumped away from him.

"I—I'm sorry, Toad."

He cocked his head carefully, a suggestion of his normal gesture. Searching her face, he couldn't help but notice she avoided his eyes. He also noticed that although her fingers had stopped, a ghost touch lingered.

Swallowing was still a difficulty.

"May I have some water?"

Arioch started again, just a bit, at his request, then nodded. Gingerly she lifted his head from her lap and slid a cushion into her place. She stood. He heard her knees and back crack as she hurried to fulfill his request.

Toad closed his eyes to watch the flashes of color behind his lids.

In only a few seconds she returned. She said his name and waited for him to reopen his eyes before carefully lifting his head and holding the glass to his lips.

He took a long sip, almost choked, and labored to swallow. The liquid soothed the rawness. Arioch watched anxiously.

Swallowing more was too difficult. Toad nodded, jarring loose the ache again. She took the glass away and placed his head down again. The pain was less with his eyes shut.

He could sense she hadn't left his side. Her nervousness was apparent.

The tip of his tongue touched his lips. "Why are you doing this?" he asked.

Her clothing rustled slightly as she shrugged. "I . . . don't . . .." Arioch didn't complete her reply. Toad felt her give herself a shake. When she spoke again, it wasn't with the hesitancy she'd displayed since he recognized her. "You need rest, Toad. Don't try to move. If you need anything, call for me."

She moved slightly away from him. In seconds he felt her cover him with a blanket.

"Call for me," she repeated, and she was gone.

~~~~~

Arioch chided herself silently for dozing off again. How long had it been this time? She had wanted to stay awake, to make sure Toad didn't hurt himself again, and had fallen asleep. She had gone to change clothes, and then found herself waking in a heap on the bed. At least last time she dropped off on the couch; she'd been able to calm Toad down almost immediately. But this time . . ..

She passed out of her small bedroom, into the living area where she had left Toad propped with pillows on the floor.

He was gone.

"Son of a bitch!" she exclaimed. "Quinn, you stupid, stupid bitch!"

She pinched the bridge of her nose to stop the stinging tears. Continuing to curse herself ("how could you be so fucking stupid!") half under her breath, she toppled to the couch and stared at the empty space on the floor.

Arioch took a breath and willfully forced her tears to stop. Not having a tissue, she turned her head and wiped the snot off her nose with her sleeve. She gave a shaky sigh and glanced around the room, wondering where her half finished bottle of whiskey had been dropped last time.

Under the couch? Arioch twisted herself to look under it. There it was! She grasped the bottle neck and hauled it out. The cork popped out of her fingers and flew to the floor again. Ignoring it for a moment, she took a long gulp from the bottle to steady herself.

Now. The cork. She stood up, setting the bottle on the floor, kicking the pillows and blanket away to find where it had fallen. She finally located it beside the couch, near the wall.

Toad was there. Hidden between the couch and wall, crouched. His back rested against the wall, and he watched her impassively through bruised eyes. He seemed dazed.

Arioch gasped. "Toad!"

She reached for him, and he cringed at both her voice and hand. Arioch paused.

"You shouldn't be sitting up. Your face is so bruised . . . will you . . . let me help you?"

He continued to sit hunched. His eyes—what little showed through the swollen lids—remained emotionless. But Arioch thought his stance relaxed a minute amount. When she put her hand on his shoulder, he didn't flinch or tremble.

She helped him out of his crevice, and eased him onto the couch. Telling him she'd only be a few minutes, and asking him to stay where he was, Arioch rushed to the bathroom, grabbing washcloths and holding them under the faucet. Wringing out most of the water into the basin, she hurried back to the living room.

Toad had remained on the couch. Arioch knelt beside him, carefully placing the wet cloths on his head and face. Their cool touch seemed to soothe him more.

Arioch sat back on her heels. She reached for the alcohol beside her, and took another drink.

~~~~~

The more Toad healed, the more he insisted on staying hidden, choosing the small area beside the couch as a safe haven. He never slept that she was aware of, and always seemed wary. Arioch brought him water and food, which he barely touched, whether he bid her to or not. She grew accustomed to his almost silent presence, watching her as she went through her daily routine.

He attempted to act as if he had no pain, but she knew it was a lie.

She had been cleaning a gun on the couch, acutely aware he saw her every movement. Occasionally she would cast a glance in his direction. If he lifted his large eyes to hers, they caught the light and glimmered.

Most of his bruising had faded, she noted, when a thunderous knock shook the room. Toad, reclining against the wall, felt the reverberation through the structure and cradled his head with an involuntary cry as he sunk to the floor. 

Arioch glanced to determine he would be all right, then dropped the dismantled weapon and cloth. She hurdled to the door, scooping up a sawed off shotgun as she went. The majority of her guns were loaded, and she clicked the safety off as she threw open the door.

Sabretooth stood there, his immense form filling the doorway. He didn't seem upset a double barrel shotgun was fixed at his face. Arioch backed him out of her entrance and pulled the door shut behind her.

"Where is that fuckin' runt?" the huge man demanded. 

"Back off, Sabretooth," Arioch replied, her voice low.

"Is he a cripple now? Messed up in the head? Paralyzed? What? That why you hidin' him out in your room? If he's a cripple, he can't do his job. An' that means he'd be better off dead." Sabretooth smiled, showing too many sharpened teeth. "I'm just the man to take care of that."  
"You back off, Sabretooth," she repeated, louder, gritting her teeth.

Sabretooth leaned closer to her face. "Or what, little girl? You can't protect that fuckin' stunted—"

The rest of his sentence was choked off as she jammed the barrel of the gun into his throat. With a practiced movement, she cocked the firearm.

"You wanna bet?"

They watched each other, hatred passing between them tangibly. The pressure on Sabretooth's neck never wavered. A silent snarl twisted his face, and he spit,

"Fine, Arioch. You can't hide him forever. I can wait. An' you better be watchin' your back too, little girl."

With that he backed away, and continued down the hallway without a backward glance.

Arioch didn't drop the bead off his back. She finally lowered the gun once he turned a corner.

She let her breath out in a rush.

Around the corner, unseen, Sabretooth grinned at the sound.

~~~~~

Once back in the room, Arioch bolted the door securely. She disengaged the gun but set it in the corner by the door, ready again.

She found Toad still curled on the floor. His nose was bleeding again. 

Immediately she knelt beside him in the cramped space confined by the couch, and gathered him to her. There was no reluctance in her touch, and no shrinking back from him. He allowed her to shift his position to one similar to the first day: he on his back, head in her lap, her hands stroking away the thunderbolts of pain rocking him as her fingers slid through his hair.

He realized she was humming again, and that helped too.

~~~~~

Later, with the lights dimmed for his comfort and the blood cleaned from his face, Toad crouched in his corner and scrutinized Arioch. She had, to his surprise, brought him tea instead of water tonight. He hadn't had hot tea since . . . almost since he'd been back in England. He didn't like to eat or drink (or sleep, for that matter) with other people around, but the tea had astonished him and he drained most of the cup. 

She, of course, drank whiskey. Emptied a glass, poured herself two fingers more. He had observed her doing this for the last days, and the motion was monotonous.

Toad shifted on his heels, almost imperceptibly. "You drink a lot," he stated. His voice seemed too loud in the still room.

Arioch paused in lifting the glass to her lips. Staring at the amber fluid at the bottom for a second, she replied, "Yeah."

The glass continued its journey, and she emptied it.

"You don't seem much affected by it."

Arioch turned to him. Even in the dim light, his eyes shone. "Most of my liver and brain is already pickled."

"But . . . you don't stagger or slur your words."

"Must be a facet of my mutation." This struck her as funny, and she covered her mouth to giggle.

Toad cocked his head. He knew her mutation; Magneto had briefed the Brotherhood on her abilities before she joined. He didn't comprehend her joke. 

"Are your reflexes dulled?"

She shot him a sharp look. "You think you can hit me?"

He assessed her. She hadn't changed position on the couch, still holding the empty whiskey glass, her feet curled under her. She looked a little tired. He made his decision.

"Yes," Toad answered, and without pause his tongue exploded from his mouth.

Again, automatically, he aimed for her neck. He only wanted to tap it, to prove she was intoxicated and wipe the smugness from her face.

Arioch snatched the tip from the air, six inches from her body.

Toad sat, open-mouthed, his tongue in her hand, in shock. It wasn't him. It had nothing to do with his injury; his attack was still lightening swift. It was her.

She gave the same gentle pinch he remembered from before, and opened her fist.

He was speechless. She poured herself another drink.

~~~~~

Eventually she saw his tea was mostly gone. Standing up and cracking her back, she scooped up his cup unceremoniously and headed for the kitchen. In a matter of minutes, she came back with a fresh cup.

Instead of setting it beside him on the floor, like normal, she waited for him to take it from her. He did, with slightly trembling fingers.

She returned to the couch.

Toad shifted again, again minutely, again uncomfortably. He struggled with the question that had eaten his mind with confusion and worry and a little fear. The question he had formed before; the question she would not—or could not—answer earlier. It finally blurted from his mouth, less powerful than his tongue but just as abrupt.

"Arioch, why are you doing this?"

Now she shifted in her spot, uneasy. Her movement was much more exaggerated than his. She refused to meet his gaze. She didn't answer.

"I heard what Sabretooth said. I heard you back him down," he continued in her silence. "No one's ever fought for me. No one's ever cleaned my blood. No one's ever held me. No one's ever . . . cared." He looked at her sharply.

"Why are you doing this? What do you want from me?"

Arioch did look to him at his last question. "I don't want anything," she whispered. "I don't know anything, Toad. Even if nobody's cared for you before, you need it now. I've never had anyone to look out for, except myself. But you were unconscious . . . and I just couldn't leave you there. I never meant anything by holding you—it was something you needed, and I wanted to help you.

"I didn't do this because I wanted something from you. I didn't do it because I had some ulterior motive. I just did it. Because I wanted to."

She paused and wiped an arm across her face. Toad saw it was slick with tears.

"I'm sorry, Toad. I'm sorry it made you think you owed me. I know it's every man for himself here. I don't want you to think you have to stay here any longer than you have to . . ..

"I know you don't trust me. Why should you? I'm a merc, only following the money. Maybe I shouldn't have gotten so involved. But I wanted to help you . . ..

"I'm just so sorry."

Toad sat mute, absorbing her words. As the silence stretched, Arioch wiped her eyes angrily several more times. Finally her tears quit.

With another shaky sigh, she told him again, "You don't have to stay any longer than you want," and disappeared behind the sheet dividing the room from her bed without looking him in the face again. She dropped the sheet behind her.

~~~~~

In the night Toad crept into her bedroom. He was noiseless, and she did not stir on the bed as he approached.

She was quiet, covered with a blanket, her hair tumbled on the pillow. One hand rested, curled and relaxed, near the profile of her face.

Toad marveled at the hand, so feminine, so seemingly delicate. The hand that was inhumanly quick on a trigger, not timid about taking the life of another. The hand with the reflex to grasp his tongue—something so rapid some people couldn't see it. 

The same hand that had traveled through his hair, soothed him tenderly, held his hideous body without uncertainty.

Observing her, he suddenly understood that she trusted him. She knew the law of the Brotherhood—had spoken it just an hour ago!—and yet had faith in him enough to sleep in his presence. 

Toad knew that lack of trust in his fellow mutants was the reason he slept lightly, jumping alert at the faintest sound. It was the reason he preferred to eat alone, be alone, in the shadows so he could watch and prepare if a move was made toward him. He had learned the lesson of survival young, and knew it to be the most important knowledge in his mind.

He expected no less from anyone else here.

But Arioch . . . Arioch slept undisturbed, even knowing he was locked in with her. 

An odd feeling twisted his stomach.

Toad moved away, and silently made his way back to his corner, his mind whirling with strange thoughts. For the first night since he awoke in this room, he slept soundly.

~~~~~

The next morning Arioch shifted, stretched lightly, and opened her eyes. She knew Toad had to be gone. Funny, it felt a little peculiar to know that she was the only person in her room again. Peculiar enough to give her the stinging sensation of built up tears again.

Damnit, Quinn! she reprimanded herself. Knock it off!

But she had grown used to his almost silent, attentive company.

Shit.

From behind the dividing sheet she could just barely make out a faint shuffling and clicking sound, almost as if someone was rummaging through the living room.

What the--? she thought, forcing herself to be more alert. It didn't help; the noises were too muffled to be identified accurately.

She silently groped for the dagger she stored under the thin mattress, and slid from under the blanket. Willing her feet to make no sound, mindless that she was still wearing only a thin t-shirt and boxer shorts, she carefully drew back the sheet.

The thin vibration the fabric made as it moved alerted her intruder. In a flurry of movement, before she could pinpoint a target, the person had disappeared.

"What the fuck?" she spit, still holding the knife steady, and groping for a nearby automatic pistol with her other hand. Aiming at her bookshelves, where she thought she'd last heard the person, she smoothly sheathed the knife against her forearm and reached for the light switch.

The sudden light blinded her momentarily. She blinked rapidly to force her eyes to recover.

Her aim was true; right at the shelves. In the next second, she had pivoted her mark to Toad, clinging to the ceiling.

"I was only looking," he mumbled quietly.

The gun dropped to Arioch's side, and she sat down heavily on the floor.

~~~~~

Arioch made no mention of the fact he was still in her room, and knew better than to tell him she was glad of it. She again continued her daily routines as before.Something about him had changed, she noted. He seemed a bit more relaxed, now not completely content to stay as small as possible behind the couch. He was more willing to take things directly from her; his hands no longer shook. Once she caught him in a cat nap, and pretended not to notice when he snapped awake. Another time, as she stepped out of the shower, the door swung shut, as if by a draft. She knew she had closed it completely, and had the certain feeling it wasn't the first time Toad had watched her bathe.

Some times at night, after she was in bed, she heard him moving cautiously about the room. Surprisingly, it didn't bother her. 

Again, she understood not to directly ask him about his attitude change.

Because he had brought up her drinking habit earlier, Arioch cut a majority of it out. It made her evenings seem longer, with nothing to do with her hands. Bored one night, she went to her shelves, piled haphazardly with various books and CDs. She knew Toad had gone through them several times—she had heard him—but nothing was out of place. Presumably at random, she selected a thin book and carried it back to the couch.

Toad watched her.

Arioch flipped through the book, pausing at some pages longer than others. The couch creaked, and with a start, she saw Toad had crept onto the cushions with her. 

His wariness was back, evident in his eyes.

"You can sit closer," she said quietly. She wondered if he would bolt back to his corner.

But he didn't: tentatively he made his way nearer to her, and before she could object, he slid his head into her lap. Habitually her fingers brushed through his hair. He visibly relaxed at her touch.

Arioch was speechless.

Toad broke the silence. "What are you reading?"

"I . . . ah . . .." Suddenly remembering the book in her other hand, Arioch stared at it, dull-witted. She shook her head. "I, um . . . well, I don't read . . . very well."

He cocked his head, looking at her curiously.

"Um . . . I didn't like school much, and was kicked out a lot for disrupting the classes. And after I ran away, I never went back to any school. I was . . . eleven . . . and I never really learned how to . . . read well."

She glanced at the spot in the book she held open. "But—this book has some pictures . . . and I like to look at them." 

From the smudges and creases in the pages, it was obvious she liked to look at them frequently.

"You ran away? From home?"

She shook her head violently. "Foster homes. I never had a real home."

Again his expression was curious. "You were an orphan?"

Bitterly she nodded.

"Did you know your parents? Do you remember them?"

"Not much."

"Your parents gave you up. And you look human," Toad said, more to himself than her. "You don't look different."

Arioch shrugged, and continued to run her fingers through his hair. "Maybe they could tell I was different on the inside." She paused, then changed the subject. "So that's why I can't read much. I have lots of books, I like to have them. But I can't read most of them."

"I couldn't read either," he confided. "Not when Magnus found me. He took me in, and made me learn. He said it was important, but never explained why."

She smiled sadly at him. "I know why."

The book was cumbersome to hold with one hand, so she let it drop to the floor. Then she didn't know what to do with her empty hand. Finally it came to rest on Toad's chest, because that was most comfortable. She hoped he wouldn't be able to feel the cold sweat on her palm.

He read her mind. "This is awkward for you."

"No, no," Arioch protested immediately. She licked her lips, a gesture he watched with interest. "But you know, I could use a drink."

Toad raised his eyebrows, and gave her a sly smile. With her fingers still entwined in his hair, he turned his head. His tongue shot out, wrapped itself around the bottle by the door, and returned to the couch.

In spite of herself, Arioch laughed. "That's handy," she chuckled, taking the bottle from him. The grip was a bit sticky, but she popped the cork with her thumb and took a long swig.

He grinned.

"You want some?" she offered. 

He shrugged. "Okay." He made no move to sit up.

"You just want me to pour it in your mouth?" Arioch asked jokingly.

"Yeah!"

Stifling another laugh, she shook her head. "Okay—just don't get upset if it just splashes all over the damn place."

"With your reflexes? I'd expect not a drop out of place."

"Hmm. We'll see . . .."

Toad opened his mouth obligingly, and she poured. It all went well until she burst into laughter again and accidentally spilled the liquid over his face and into her lap. He snorted the liquid from his nose, which made her roar harder and spill more. She finally managed to set the bottle upright.

"Look at this mess!" she exclaimed, not seeming to mind at all. "Quinn, you're a numskull! I'm so sorry you're covered in this stuff. But it's your fault, you know. You're the one who insisted I just dump it down your throat!

"Here, hold this," she demanded, depositing the now-mostly-empty bottle on his chest. He took hold of it.

She wiped his face dry of the alcohol, flinging droplets off her fingers to the carpet. 

"Quinn," Toad muttered, grinning widely for a second. Then his smile faded, and he told her seriously, "You know, you shouldn't say that sort of thing so much."

"What?" she asked, still distracted.

"You know. Always putting yourself down. You do that quite a bit. I've heard you."

Arioch gave a half shrug. "Oh, that. I'm just used to being by myself, so I talk out loud all the time. I don't always mean it when I say stuff like that. Some times I do, but not too much."

He nodded, half-convinced.

She took the bottle from his hand and shook it. Only a swallow or two of liquid splashed against the sides. Tipping her head back, she drained it. The bottle followed the book to her floor.

She sighed and smiled at him. Resuming running her fingers through his hair, she asked, 

"How's your head?"

"Better."

"Good! Now—if you're up for making it ache in a different way—" he gave her a confused expression, she winked, "—grab another bottle of rot gut."

Toad smiled, shook his head slightly, and his tongue complied.

Drinking semi-steadily they passed the bottle back and forth. The binge was interrupted with unexplained bouts of laughter. His mind made fuzzy with the alcohol, Toad was suddenly restless.

He sat up abruptly, knocking her hand and spilling the bottle again.

"Hey! Careful now—this is precious, precious stuff!"

Toad turned back to her quickly, and Arioch found herself face to face with him. Flustered, she licked her lips. He glanced at her mouth to watch the nervous gesture again, then returned his strangely watery gaze to hers. She couldn't look away.

Pause.

Toad blinked. He backed away. 

In his restlessness he paced the room.

Arioch followed him with her eyes. "This room isn't that big, Toad!" she giggled. "You're making me dizzy!"

He stopped suddenly in front of her shelves. "You have a lot of CDs," he informed her, running a fingernail along the spines of the cases.

"Uh-huh," she replied through a mouthful of liquid.

"Why don't you play them?"  
"'Cause the music I like isn't easy on the ears, and I like to play it loud. Haven't you ever heard it?"

Vaguely, he could recall pulsing rhythms and muffled lyrics coming from behind her closed door occasionally as he made his way through the hallway. Mystique had complained about it, but Mystique didn't like Arioch. His muddled mind wondered if he should tell her that.

Ignoring the fact he didn't answer her, Arioch continued. "Anyway, I didn't know how much earsplitting noise you could handle, with your injury and all. So I haven't played it."  
"I'm better now."

She cocked an amused eyebrow. "You know, I might make you dance with me."  
Toad flashed her a grin. 

"All right, you've been warned! Pick something out."

A majority of the bands he'd never heard of, so at random his fingers settled on one and he pulled it out. He carefully slipped it into her stereo.

"Good choice," Arioch told him from across the room. She dug through the cushions on the couch and eventually discovered a remote control. She punched a few buttons, and immediately 'No Brakes' by the Offspring screamed from the speakers.

Toad jumped back, and Arioch laughed. "I told you!" she shouted over the noise.

As the music blasted, he continued his trip around the room. A hand on the wall steadied him. Making another pass, his sensitive fingers encountered little nicks and pock marks in the drywall. Standing closer and examining them, they looked like slices had been taken from its surface.

Turning back to Arioch, he noticed he was directly across the room from her spot on the couch.

"What're these?" he shouted to her.

"Come here and I'll show you!"

He rejoined her on the couch. She handed him the bottle again, and again he took a swig from it. From no where, she unexpectedly had a knife in her hand.

"You keep them in the couch?!" he exclaimed.

She shrugged. "Don't you?"

Taking the tip of the weapon, she flexed her wrist, drew her arm back, and pitched the knife. The blade tumbled through the air, flashing intermittently, and buried itself in the wall.

"See?" she smiled. "Target practice!" 

~~~~~

Later:

They made their way through that bottle of whiskey and started another. Kid Rock replaced the Offspring and screeched obscenities from the woofers.

~~~~~

Later:

"Hey," he remembered suddenly, "what did you mean when you said you were a demon?"

Blank stare. The alcohol affected her more than she thought.

"You know. I thought you were Death, and you said—"

"No, I'm just a minor demon," she interrupted. "Yeah. I'm an assassin. A hit man. Arioch is one of the demons of vengeance. Get it?"

"Yeah . . . that's pretty clever. Pretty clever."

~~~~~

Later:

"Now I feel like dancing."

"I thought that was an idle threat!"

"Not on your life, buster."

Arioch changed the CD to the Tank Girl soundtrack, flipping through the tracks till she got to Aurora by Veruca Salt. The soft slow ballad made a stark comparison to the earlier music, even if it was as loud as the others.

She returned to the couch and took Toad's hand, pulling him into a standing position.

Pressed against her, with his arms clumsily around her, Toad was somehow able to force, "I don't dance, Arioch," out of his dry mouth.

She shrugged. "I'm too drunk to notice," she replied, and settled her head into his shoulder, forehead against his neck. She gave a small sigh, and hummed along with the melody.

They rocked slowly to the ballad: Toad tense—he had trouble catching his breath after her hands slipped under his shirt to rest in the small of his back—and Arioch oblivious. He had just managed to relax when the song ended. Arioch (still unaware or possibly ignoring his nervousness) looked up, smiled quickly at him, and gave him a squeeze.

"Thanks," she whispered, then skipped away to the stereo. She replaced the CD with Kid Rock again. She explained over her shoulder, "I don't want to listen to the rest of this one right now."

He remained standing, awkwardly. Arioch returned to his side.

She leaned in close to his ear to tell him confidentially, "Your mouth is open."

It snapped shut with an audible sound, and he finally sank back onto the couch.

~~~~~

Later:

Arioch turned to Toad, who was staring at the wall.

"I'm hungry!" she stated. "You wanna go out for Chinese?"

He slowly returned his amphibious gaze to her. He opened his hands and gave a slight jerk with his head as if to say, 'look at me!'

She understood his gesture immediately. "Oh, knock it off! They don't care what you look like in China—they're really desperate for money."

"China?" he repeated.

"Where else would we get Chinese food?" she remarked in surprise, as if he were slow.

"Go to China?" He _felt_ slow.

Arioch waved her hand in his direction. "Oh, you're probably right. I'd have to call Russ, and he'd have to get the jet fueled up and everything. It'd take hours. Well, we'll keep it in mind. Tomorrow, maybe?"

Completely bewildered, Toad nodded.

~~~~~

Later:

Toad insisted she teach him how to throw knives like she did. By this time her aim had deteriorated. She managed to stick it in the wall a few more times, but usually the flat of the blade would strike heavily and it would fall with a thump to the floor.

He didn't have much better luck. It didn't help that he graciously offered to retrieve the knife (with his tongue, of course). The thin saliva left on the handle was slightly tacky; it tended to throw their pitch off.

~~~~~

Later:

The knife throwing finally abandoned, they sat leaning into one another on the couch. They were silent for a moment. Kid Rock, on continuous, belted out 'American Badass' again. Toad hiccuped.

Arioch inspected Toad carefully. "You don't look good," she concluded. "You look a little green."

He turned to her slowly. They both burst into laughter.

It ended when he retched.

"Oh my god!" Arioch shrieked. "Not on my pants! Do you know how much it costs to get puke out of leather?!"

She unceremoniously shoved him over, and he proceeded to vomit on the rug.

Whiskey, a little tea, and green slime. Arioch draped a sympathetic arm over Toad's shoulders as he sat with his head between his knees, a string of spit hanging from his lip to the floor.

"How many tickets is that ride?" she questioned playfully, before the smell hit her.

The next second she pushed away from the couch and scrambled for the bathroom. She barely made it to the toilet.

"Holy Mary Mother of God," she muttered as she finished heaving. She had no control as her body fell sideways to the linoleum. She stared at the plumbing under the sink. "I haven't puked in forever."

Her arms clasped over her stomach, she continued to lay immobile until Toad crawled in beside her.

"Are you okay?" he asked, concern cut into his voice.

"I think I'm okay as you are."

He nodded, and collapsed in front of her. Now, instead of plumbing, she stared at his chin.

"I can't take any more," confessed Arioch, in a whisper. "Me, who used to do this sort of thing all night! Toad, you're quite a man—you wore me out."

He tilted his head to look her more squarely in the face. She wasn't looking at his eyes.

"Let me see your tongue again."

Agreeably, he opened his mouth. His tongue slid out a leisurely four inches.

"Oh baby," Arioch murmured, and despite the awkward position, kissed him soundly on the mouth.

It dumbfounded him, having _her_ tongue in _his_ mouth. She explored its interior carefully while he stayed frozen. In only a few seconds, it was over. He was torn between feeling stunned and feeling aroused.

Arioch paused lip to lip with him, for a moment, breathing into his mouth. Then she pulled away.

She caught his eyes. "Hey," she began.

Here it comes, he thought blackly. The shove off. I can't believe she gave me a smack! And now it's, 'sorry Morty, made a huge mistake, get-the-fuck-out-you-freak.'

"Listen—" she continued.

He closed his eyes, to seal the kiss in his memory, and to block out the fancied look of disgust on her face. 

"—I'm really sorry—"

Bitch.

"—but I can't—" 

Cocktease.

"—do much more than that right now—"

Huh?

"—I still feel pretty shitty. Can you—"

Huh?

"—take a raincheck?"

Toad's eyes popped open. She regarded him sincerely.

She was serious!

He thought he was able to nod his head; later, if questioned, he wouldn't be certain he actually did. They helped each other off the floor and stumbled out of the bathroom. Arioch grabbed the remote and amazingly, after the first several tries, was able to shut the stereo down.

The silence was instantaneous, but Kid Rock still rung in their ears.

She pulled him along to her bed behind the sheet, he protesting half-heartedly he hadn't slept in a bed for ages and he would probably steal the blankets and she would regret losing the space and he was _comfortable_ in his corner—

Arioch sat down on the bed, removed her shirt, and told him he was free to do as he pleased.

Toad clambered into the bed.

~~~~~

The next morning, too too early, the room was shaken by booming strikes against the door.

"Arioch! Toad! Get your fuckin' asses out here now! Magneto wants ta talk to you!" roared Sabretooth.

The pounding continued.

Groaning, Toad attempted to sit up; he found himself too tangled in the blankets to complete the motion. But the swaddling kept him pressed against Arioch, which was preferable to getting out of bed anyway. Arioch covered her head with the pillow.

"Toad, if what's going on in my head right now is anywhere _close_ to the agony you went through, I'm terribly, terribly sorry," he barely heard her mumble through the cushion.

He groaned in reply.

The pounding continued.

"Git up! He ain't gonna be happy you're keepin' him waitin'!"

Arioch sat up suddenly. "I am going to go blow his jaw off," she said in a strangely flat voice. She stood up shakily and unsteadily reached for a gun. She tottered toward the door.

"Arioch—wait!" Toad cried. To his dismay, his own voice rocked his head. "Your clothes!"

It made her pause for a second. She glanced at herself, slowly registering she was wearing only a t-shirt and shorts. 

The pounding continued.

She started for the door again. Once there, she screamed, "KNOCK OFF THAT FUCKING NOISE—WE'RE COMING!" It made her clutch her own head, but she stifled her own cry of distress.

The pounding stopped.

"Goddamn asshole," she whispered. Out loud she said, "Give us a few minutes! We'll be there!"

"Hurry it up!" he shouted back.

Arioch flipped off the door and turned back to Toad. "Come on, Magnus wants to see us."

"So I've heard," he replied dryly. "You got any coffee?"

She snorted. "Never touch the stuff. Your choices are hot tea or hair of the dog that bit you."

"Wonderful selection."

She shot him a look and managed to find a different pair of pants to wear that were _not_ the same as the previous evening. Toad wanted to watch her dress, since she didn't seem shy about it, but scrambled to locate his own shirt after she hissed an order to find it quickly.

She disappeared into the bathroom to splash cold water on her face and smooth down her hair. Tying it back in a low ponytail with a strip of rawhide, she returned to the living room to find Toad waiting.

"You decide what you want?" she asked. "Anything?"

He almost shook his head and realized the motion hurt too much. Arioch grabbed the tipped bottle of whiskey she had left on the floor. Most of the alcohol had leaked out, but a few swallows remained.

Examining the liquid critically, she wondered aloud, "Jim Beam, why do you have to be so tasty?" and took a slug.

It brought color back to her cheeks. She sighed contentedly. Wordlessly she handed the bottle to him. With trepidation he followed her lead, and drank a mouthful. The effect was immediate: he felt _human_ again.

"You look like Death warmed over," Arioch told him.

He smirked, and his reply surprised him. "You still find me sexy?"

She stepped closer and tilted her head to his, near enough to brush his lips if she desired. "Yeah," she whispered. "Now let's go see the old man so we can get back here."

A different sort of torment arced through him; not brought on by the alcohol. Toad wanted—did he dare?—to kiss her, take her, right then. But Arioch moved away, toward the door. He followed obediently.

He watched her slide an automatic pistol into the back of her pants. Just as she reached the door, she paused. 

"One more thing," she muttered to herself, and began digging through a box set behind the door. She pulled out an unusual weapon—a dark colored knife. There was no discerning between blade and handle. She didn't explain it to him, simply slipped the weapon into a narrow pocket set on her thigh. "Okay," she said brightly, "let's go!"  
And she flung open the door.

Sabretooth stood impatiently in front of them. "You two look like shit," he said immediately, wrinkling his nose. "Magneto ain't gonna like that."

"And you're ready for a black tie dinner," Arioch grumbled under her breath. "Let's go, bitch."

"What?!" he bellowed.

Both she and Toad cringed at the sound. 

"I told you to knock off that fucking yelling!" Arioch shouted back. 

Her face set darkly, she pulled the strange knife. Before Toad could prevent what transpired, Arioch grabbed Sabretooth by his hair, spun him into an uncomfortable position bent backwards, shifted and tightened her grip on his forehead, and pressed the blade into his throat.

"Arioch!" Toad exclaimed.

"What the fuck—you whore—" he cried. 

She ignored it. "You want me to make it so you don't make any noise, ever, you blue cunt?!"

With the sharpened edge drawing a line of blood on her throat, Sabretooth's form melted into Mystique's. She gasped for breath.

"Are you going to screech again?" Arioch demanded. "ARE YOU?!"

"No," she gulped.

Arioch released her with a slight shove. Her knife disappeared. Mystique stumbled before catching herself. The look she gave Arioch was poison.

"Are we allowed to go to Magneto's room ourselves, or do we need an escort?"

The yellow gaze was still death, but Mystique stomped down the hall without a word. Arioch and Toad had no choice but to follow her.

"How—how did you know . . .?" Toad whispered, so Mystique couldn't hear.

"She was a couple of inches too short."

"You could tell by a couple of _inches?"_

"It's my job to size people up," Arioch replied shortly. "Everyone's a potential target."

That statement made him uneasy. He wondered, as best as his aching head would allow, about her abrupt change in demeanor. They continued through the hallways in silence.

~~~~~

Reaching Magneto's private chambers, Mystique stopped and finally turned to face the other two mutants.

"You," she spit, pointing a finger harshly in Arioch's direction. "Erik requested to see you first."

Arioch gave herself a shake.

"Worried, slut?" Mystique asked, smiling cruelly.

Arioch met her gaze evenly. "No." She glanced to Toad, who looked sick again. She went to him, and took his shoulders. She dropped her voice—Mystique strained to eavesdrop. "You okay, Toad?" she asked.

He couldn't bring himself to meet her eyes. 

She stepped even closer. "Is it because of last night, or because of this?"

He struggled to answer. "This," he managed to mouth painfully.

Arioch slid a hand to his cheek and forced his head up. His eyes were brimming with fear and distress. "Everything will be fine," she assured.

Toad only dropped his head again.

Arioch watched him a second more, but when it was obvious he was done, she stepped away from him. She turned to face the steel door of Magneto's quarters. Ignoring Mystique's look, she pushed the door opened.

Out of the corner of his eye, Toad saw her walk through the door, and saw it swing shut solidly behind her. He muzzled a moan of despair and sunk to a crouch near the wall.

~~~~~

Magneto sat behind his desk, fingers steepled, staring intently at Arioch as she came in. Everything in the room was metal, including the walls and floor, and the reflections from the overhead lights hurt her eyes.

"Quinn, my dear, you look _dreadful,"_ Magneto proclaimed. "Please, have a seat."

With a wave of his hand, a solid steel chair screeched across the solid steel floor to her. The noise cut through her head tortuously. In spite of her resolve, she pressed her palms to her temples as she dropped into the chair he offered.

It was several moments before she could remove her hands.

"It appears you had quite a time last night," he continued. "The sounds from your room were incredible. I believe Mystique attempted to quiet you by knocking on your door, but you never heard her. Did you?"

Arioch felt as though she'd been caught by a parent. "I never knew there was a curfew or noise ordinance."

Magneto smiled coolly, and changed the subject. "May I assume, with the racket from last night, and the obvious fact that you are completely hung over, that Toad is feeling better? Ready to return to his place in the Brotherhood?"

"What would you know about his injury?" she replied, more sharply than she intended.

He sat back.

She didn't back down. "Brotherhood, my ass! He was knocked out cold, and everyone was hell-bent-for-leather to bail out of there with no regard to the fact that he _couldn't_ bolt. What kind of _Brotherhood_ is that?"

A dangerous look had come to Magneto's eyes. "So you saved him? Is that the point you are trying to make, Arioch?"

She saw his glare and bit her tongue.

"So you save him," he repeated thoughtfully, "only to drag him down into your own private perdition. Crawl into a liquor bottle and block out the world."

His accusation struck her like a physical blow. 

"I would never let him sink that low," she snarled. "My drinking is a punishment. It's too harsh."

Magneto raised his eyebrows. "You care for him." It wasn't a question; it had the bite of disapproval.

Angered, on the brink of forsaking rational thought, Arioch pushed herself out of her chair, propelling herself to his desk. As she slammed against it, a hand automatically extracted her gun from its place at the small of her back. She had almost brought it around to lock on her target, when she noticed Magneto's expression.

He was completely at ease, an amused smile curling his lips.

Arioch caught herself. With a short, unconvincing laugh, she voluntarily loosened her grip on the gun. It spun upside down on her forefinger before clattering to the surface of the metal desk.

"Whether or not I care for Toad," she said civilly, leaning on the desk as if nothing had just occurred, "is none of your business, Erik."

No response, only a calculated look.

"Has my service been satisfactory?"

"Absolutely," he replied honestly. "You have performed your duties excellently. I have no complaints, Arioch."

She nodded. "Thank you. I'm glad. Are you dismissing me?"

A startled expression crossed his face. Arioch didn't let her feeling of victory show.

"No," Magneto said. "I believe our monetary contract has been completed, but I'm not dismissing you. I had hoped you would consider staying and joining our cause.

"You and I are a bit different than the others," he continued. "Mutants, but not physically affected. We could have hidden our abilities and no one would have known. Yet we're both separate from society by choice, and have now made ourselves pariahs. Society would have no place for us even if we wished to rejoin."

Arioch nodded again, thoughtfully. He let her process his words.

Finally she spoke. "If you'd like me to stay, you'd have a better chance if you didn't forbid Toad to have a . . . friend."

He understood what she meant. 

"My performances will continue to be above your expectations, Erik."

She received another of his thin smiles. "Very good, Quinn. Although I have to confess it is not your performances I would worry about." He sighed. "Dare I say we have an amended contract?"

The smile was returned quickly. "Yeah. Now do you mind if I go find some aspirin?"

"Please!" Arioch took the gun from his desk and tucked it back into her waistband, turning as she did so. "Oh, Arioch?" She turned back. "Keep the music down."

She managed another wry grin, and he bid her leave through a side door.

~~~~~

Once the heavy steel doors shut behind Arioch, Mystique spun on her heel to face Toad. He huddled against the wall, balancing on his toes. His forehead rested on his crossed arms, and he stared despondently at the floor.

She stepped in front of him. "Toad—"

"Bugger off." His muffled reply startled her.

"Toad, I—"

"Leave me the hell alone."

Mystique pursed her lips. Toad had never acted this way toward her before. Her expression hardened. "Did you fuck her?" she asked maliciously.

That got his attention. He looked up at the statuesque woman standing before him and narrowed his eyes.

"You look like shit, Toad. You smell like puke. You're completely, totally wasted. You look like you're about to keel over and die. And you're going to continue to look like that the longer you hang around that bitch Arioch. I told you to stay away from her—"

"Exactly what part of bugger off and leave me the hell alone didn't you understand?" he interrupted.

"I'm only looking out for you—"

"The same way you looked out for me when I was out cold?!" Toad exploded. His head screamed in protest, but he ignored it. "Arioch told me, Mystique. She told me how everyone else just split, and how you were all going to leave me there! Arioch was the only one to do anything to help me. She was the only one to make sure I was okay! The only one!"

"She's using you, Toad!" Mystique hissed back. _"Using you._ That's the only reason she could have to care anything about a repulsive little thing like you."

Mystique had _never_ dared call him anything like that before. She knew the pain of being a physical mutant, and knew her words would cut deep.

They did.

A dark, tortured cast crossed his red-rimmed eyes. He sunk to a lower crouch, and watched her carefully.

Expecting a sharp reply and getting none, Mystique was mute for a moment. She regained her composure quickly. "I'm only looking out for you, Mortimer," she told him softly. "I'm the only one who truly knows what it's like."

He didn't need to ask what 'it' was. He continued to study her.

"Arioch can't comprehend what it's like to be one of us. Even though she's a hired gun, she's had a normal life. A life where she doesn't have to hide herself. She's not like us. I'm the only one who understands what you've gone through."

An unblinking stare, like a wary animal sizing up another.

It finally disconcerted Mystique. "Why won't you answer me?" she demanded. "Why do you keep looking at me like you've never seen me before?"

"I'm not sure if I have," Toad replied clearly.

Mystique's expression hardened again and remained that way. "She's using you, Toad. She's utilizing a woman's best weapon—sex—to put you off your guard. Quit thinking with your dick and realize what's happening!"

A low sound, a warning growl, met her ears. It was so unlike him that she involuntarily stepped back.

"Magneto knows this too, Toad," she continued. "He will send her away. She'll drop you and slip back into the real world and you'll have to stay here. You've no place else to go. You'll have to stay with the rest of the monsters."

With that, Mystique sneered and walked away without another glance. 

Toad watched her go, until she turned a corner. His headache was worse than before, and her words added another facet to his nausea. Another moan, similar to the last, forced itself from between his lips. He wished Death would visit him, right now.

A few seconds later, the doors to Magneto's chamber opened on their own. He waited hopefully, but Arioch did not come through them. Mystique was right. Magneto sent her away.

Toad wearily straightened himself, and slunk into Magneto's presence.

~~~~~

Toad would have preferred to use the walls and ceiling instead of the floor, but his head was still spinning too much to allow that. He made his way through the dim hallways quickly, and stopped in front of Arioch's doorway.

He had never paused at her door before. With a large amount of uncertainty, he rapped it tentatively.

Nothing.

Tapping it again lightly, thinking this was useless and he should go back to the ledge where he belonged, Toad strained to hear anything from the other side of the door.

Yes! A faint shambling, less faint cursing—and the door was pulled open.

Arioch stood in front of him, looking worse—if it was possible—than she had earlier in the morning. Her eyes were bloodshot, her hair was messed as if she'd been sleeping. She had shed the leather again, and was back into more comfortable apparel. The single nipple ring he discovered last night was evident through her thin shirt; his eyes drifted to it against his will. She looked pissed off.

Leaning against the door for support, her left hand remained out of sight behind her back. Toad knew, with a sinking feeling, what that meant.

"Who are you?" she demanded, her voice growly. She had been asleep.

The question startled him. He managed to whisper, "Toad," a hint of doubt in his voice.

"Prove it."

He was at a loss for words. He hadn't been sure what to expect when he came back to her door, but it definitely hadn't been this! Finally he replied, "I told you I thought you were Death."

She remained unmoved. "A lot of people call me Death. Try again."

Toad fumbled for an answer uncomfortably. "Ah . . . " he shifted from foot to foot. 

He inadvertently took a step nearer to her. Arioch tensed, and narrowed her eyes. 

"Quinn," he said swiftly, wilting before that look, "you made me dance with you, and you—you rested your head—" his fingers brushed his own neck lightly, as if he couldn't believe it himself, "—right here."

Arioch's stance relaxed. "Toad," she replied wearily. The hand hidden behind her back dropped to her side. He had been right; it held a gun. Holding the door more widely, she instructed, "Come on in."

He hurried passed her into the room, eager to tell her the amazing things Magneto had said, but she silenced him. 

"I don't want to discuss it right now," she interrupted him. "I need sleep. You look like you do too."

Arioch took his hand and guided him to her bed, dropping the gun on the couch along the way. Behind her sheet, she stripped him nearly bare, kissed him affectionately on the cheek and collapsed onto the mattress.

Toad wanted to explain he wasn't tired—not right now—and wanted to insist that what Magneto had said was important. But Arioch tugged him down to the bed and under the blanket, and suddenly, he was asleep.


	5. Arioch 5: Concert

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to Marvel and/or 20th Century Fox. 'nuff said.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

****

Arioch 5: Concert

Toad was, as ever, making adjustments to the massive air conditioning units. Arioch walked up without him ever knowing she had entered the room. She listened to the clank of tools and quiet British expletives for a moment, then cleared her throat. It alerted him enough to push himself out from under the machinery.

Without bothering to stand up from the dolly, he said, "Where've you been?"  
"How's it going?" she asked in reply, ignoring his question.

"Fucking thing's on the blink again," he replied bitterly. "Don't understand why Erik is always wanting it so bloody cold in here all the time."

She crouched down beside him. Her fingers found a gap between the buttons on his shirt and slipped inside to his chest. "Keeping it cooler here means I have another reason to snuggle up," flirted Arioch.

He would never, never become accustomed to the fact that a woman touched him with such easy intimacy. His breath caught in his throat for a second. When he was finally able to meet her eyes again, Toad saw Arioch smiling at him. He managed to take a breath and return the smile.

"So where did you disappear to?" he asked, annoyance gone.

"I had to climb the damn cliff to the top to get a clear signal." 

Confused expression.

"For my cell phone." Arioch pulled the tiny device from a pocket.

"You know Erik doesn't want us to use cell phones on the island!"

She shrugged in defiance as she slipped the phone away. "So what? It's not like I'm calling Charlie Xavier up. I just wanted some concert information."

Another confused expression, deeper than the first. Arioch grinned. 

"You want to know the good news?"  
"What news?" he asked suspiciously. He could see the excitement building in her face. Her idea of good news didn't necessarily mean good news for anyone else.

"SR-71 is playing the Mad Hatter!" she squealed.

The suspicion and confusion hadn't left Toad's face. He took her hand. "Quinn, pet, I know you're a Yank and I'm a limey—but I don't think what you just said would be understood by any other damn colonist either."

She laughed aloud. "Toad!" she giggled, squeezing his hand. In a few seconds she composed herself. "I said that SR-71 is giving a concert at the Mad Hatter, my old hangout. Where Russ bartends. And guess what?! I managed to snag a couple of tickets—not an easy task, mind you, it's a very limited show—and we're going!"

"Going? We're going?"

Arioch continued without answering. "I can't wait! I haven't been back there forever. It'll be nice to get out of this place for a night at least."

"We, as in you and me?" Toad went on.

She finally came back to him. "Well, yeah!" she affirmed, leaning close and giving him a quick kiss. "Who the hell else would I be taking?"

"I can't go to something like that!" he exclaimed. Sullenly he continued, "Some times I wonder if your eyesight is as good as you claim it is."

It was her turn to be confused. "What are you talking about?"  
"Quinn, as I often repeat—LOOK AT ME!"

"Oh would you stop going on about that!" she snapped back. "No one at the Hatter will even give you a second glance!"

"Yeah. Right." Toad glared at her for a moment, then began propelling himself back under the machine. "You just keep living in your fantasy world. I'm going back to work."

"Damn it, Mortimer!" Arioch swore. She grabbed his legs and yanked him out again. He was mildly surprised and angry. So was she. "No one will notice!" she repeated loudly. "The Mad Hatter is a mutant bar!"

The anger was replaced with a startled expression. "A what?"

"A mutant bar! It's a bar where muties can hang out and not have to worry about people trying to kill them. The bouncer at the door has the ability to recognize other mutants—no regular people without an escort are allowed in. It the place where Mystique picked me up the first time! Didn't she tell you?" 

Toad shook his head.

Arioch stared at him in disbelief. "You've never heard of anything like this before, have you?"

Again he shook his head.

"Jesus christ!" she said vehemently. "Erik really keeps the real world away from here, doesn't he?"

He didn't know what to respond to her question.

An air of determination settled about her. "That's it," she told him decisively. "We're going to that concert. We're spending the night in New York, in a hotel, with room service and everything. The world isn't just this little island, Mortimer. 

"I'm taking you out on the town."

~~~~~

The line was long and rowdy. Arioch didn't mind the push and hustle of crowds, but could feel Toad's increasing anxiety. He had covered himself almost completely, a hood hiding his face. Arioch grabbed his hand as the line moved slowly forward.

"You're going to be too hot in the club," she told him, again. "You're going to have to ditch the jacket."

"It's dark inside?" he asked, again.

She nodded. "Dark, smoky, and loud! Would you relax a little bit? Take a look around. There's obvious mutants all through this line."

Carefully, not to dislodge his cover, Toad looked through the line.

"See?" Arioch pointed out. "Check out the bald purple chick. And that guy, with the extra arms."

"Most of these people look normal," he countered.

"Mortimer, do you see that woman standing five or six people in front of us?"

He strained to pick out the person she mentioned.

"The woman with the gold hair?" 

"Yes. Looks pretty normal, right?"

Toad looked her over again. She was dressed entirely in gold—gold spandex, gold spike heels, gold halter top. He watched the woman throw her head back and laugh. Her teeth were sparkling white against the mocha of her skin.

He had to agree with Arioch. "Yeah . . . she looks normal, except for her hair. Likes gold though, huh? I guess she wanted everything to match."

Arioch smiled at him. "The hair is fake. A wig. She wears it to cover up her mutation."

"And what is that?"

"She's got an extra face on the back of her head."

Toad could only stare.

"See? You've got nothing on her. Don't worry, sweetie. I promise no one will bother you."

She squeezed his hand harder, and would have pushed his hood back to kiss him, but suddenly, they were in front of the door.

An obese black man, wearing a stained t-shirt that read: _"Why settle for a lesser evil? Cthulhu for President,"_ sat beside the door, an immense gargoyle to be passed. He allowed the group in front of them through, and turned his gaze on Arioch and Toad.

"Quinn!" he exclaimed, pleasure lighting up his face. "How you doin', girl?! Haven't seen you forever!"

"Otis!" she replied happily and reached over to hug him. Her arms only went partially around him. "I've been busy."

"Busy. Right." Otis eyed her critically. "You gotta get outta that business o' yours, baby. Gonna git you killed."

"Yeah, yeah. That'll just mean a kick ass party down in hell!"

"Hmph. You end up dead, you see great Cthulhu, you tell 'em Otis said hey."

"No prob, sweetheart, no prob," she laughed. "You gonna let us in or what?"

"Us? You bring someone wit' you?"

Toad, who'd been hiding mostly behind Arioch, was pulled in front of her.

"Otis, this is Mortimer. Mortimer, Otis."

"This a flatline or a mutie, Quinn?" Otis replied, studying Toad.

"You tell me—that's your job!"

"Not that it'd matter, him comin' in wit' you an' all . . .."

Toad didn't appreciate being spoken about as if he wasn't present, but before he could protest, Otis said, 

"Okay—you're more than welcome ta go inside. Although you—" he jerked a thumb in Toad's direction, "—better watch that tongue o' yours. Women realize what you got an' what you kin do wit' it, an' you'll be buried alive in female flesh, buddy."

Toad blushed.

"Hey!" Arioch interrupted. "Don't be giving anyone any ideas, Otis! He's mine!"  
Toad blushed even more furiously.

Otis took Toad's arm and pulled him closer to his enormous body in a conspiring way. "You've got a good woman here, Morty," Toad was told in a half whisper. "You do right by her. Bad things kin happen to someone who hurts my girl Quinn. Know what I mean?"  
Face to face with the huge black man, Toad nodded.

"Knock it off, Otis," Arioch broke in. To Toad's relief, she pulled him away, back to her side. "Don't go all protective of me again!"

"Just watchin' out for you, baby. Now git in the club—the line's gittin' unruly."

"Gotcha. See you later!" replied Quinn, and pushed through the Mad Hatter's door, dragging Toad behind her.

~~~~~

Inside was as Arioch promised—dark and smoky.

"It'll get louder later," she announced, as if reading his mind. "Now will you drop the hood?"

With a sigh of resignation, Toad complied. He didn't want to admit that without the hood obscuring his vision it was much easier to take everything in. He'd never been in a club before, mutant or otherwise, and the barrage of images was almost overwhelming.

Flashing lasers, strobe lights, and a stage dominated one half of the club. People were already crowding the floor near the stage. A long bar was situated to their right. Several alcoves lined the walls, couples and groups staking claim to the booths and benches inside. The entire place was hazy with smoke.

Someone cursed and bumped passed Toad, and with a start he realized he was still standing only a few feet inside the door. Arioch wasn't beside him.

He was at a loss of what to do, then let the movement of the crowd carry him further inside. He picked out Arioch struggling against the flow of people to reach him. She was able to grab his hand and yank him over to her spot near the bar.

"You okay?" she shouted over the growing din. He nodded wordlessly. "Good."  
She turned away from him, leaning over the bar, attempting to catch the bartender's attention. To not be separated from her by the throng of people again, Toad wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed against her. Arioch threw him a smile over her shoulder.

"Hey Russell!" she cried to the muscular bartender. "You've got paying customers over here!"

The barkeep glanced over at her, finished pulling a draft from the tap, and walked over.

"Everyone here's a paying customer," he grumbled to her, then broke into a grin. "What have you been up to, Quinn? I haven't seen you for awhile."

"Not much," she answered evasively. 

"Did you ever hook up with that guy? From the last time you were here?"

"Neah. He was a chick. A shapeshifter."

"Really?! And I thought he was hot . . .."

Arioch laughed out loud. "We've gotta get up to the balcony, Russ. I just wanted to stop by and say hello. Give me two drafts for the trip."

Russell moved his gaze to Toad, who was not paying much attention to the exchange in favor of the commotion around him. Russell indicated him with a raising of his chin. Arioch gave him a wink.

"Toad—" she said, drawing his focus back to her. "—I want you to meet Russell. He's a good friend."

Toad's liquid gaze met Russell's ice blue one. It wasn't incredibly friendly, but the well-built bartender held his hand out. Toad took it, very carefully.

"Mortimer," he offered.

"I'm Russell. Pleased to meet you." The tone of his voice denied it.

An awkward moment of silence passed, then Arioch said, "Well, let's have those brewskis so we don't miss out getting a table upstairs."

Russell quickly filled two mugs and set them on the bar. Arioch dropped some cash and took the glasses. "Thanks, Russ," she told him, and ungracefully leaned across the bar to kiss his cheek. She turned and fought the crowd to the staircase, Toad in tow.

~~~~~

Up the stairs, Arioch miraculously found an unoccupied table near the front of the balcony. Toad sat gingerly on the rickety chair beside her and took a swallow of his beer.

"So . . ." he said, looking over the growing crowd of people below them on the floor, "Russ is a good friend."

"Yeah. I've known him a long time."

"Seemed pretty familiar with you . . . I don't think he liked me much."

Arioch looked over to him. He avoided her eyes. She suddenly realized what he meant, and laughed out loud again.

"Oh _that!"_ she giggled. "He's just jealous, that's all! You've got nothing to worry about!"

"Jealous?!" Toad asked. His voice dropped. "I've never had anyone jealous of me . . .."

She laughed louder. "He's not jealous of you, Toad! He's jealous of _me!"_

"What does that mean?"

"Russ is gay!" she explained. "He's jealous of _me_, for having _you!"_

The revelation stunned Toad, and he didn't know how to answer. Arioch just laughed.

~~~~~

The two started another drink, silently watching the mob below them push into place before the band started. Arioch sighed.

"This is an old hangout?" Toad asked her. She nodded. "You saw a lot of bands here?"

"Yeah."

"Is this where you'd watch them—up here on the balcony?"

"No," she smiled. "For SR-71 I'd be right down there in the thick of it. In the mosh pit. Jumping and screaming with the rest of them."

"Why aren't we down there now, then?"

She smiled again at him. "'Cause I know how weirded out you were just standing in line, Toad! Down in the pit, people rushing you—I'm not sure you're quite ready for it." He looked about to protest, but she silenced him. "Maybe next time, okay?

"Besides, just because I'm up top doesn't mean I won't do my share of jumping and screaming. I hope you won't get embarrassed to be with me."

It was his turn to smile. This was one of the few times in his adult life Toad was out in public with no one really noticing him. No one pointing, or whispering, or shouting. It felt odd not to be trying to hide. Be embarrassed of _her? _Not bloody likely.

"So tell me then," he said, "why a popular band like SR-71 would play a small club like this."

"Simple," Arioch shrugged, "Mitch Allen, the lead singer, is a mutant."

~~~~~

The lights dimmed, and the band exploded on stage. Arioch hadn't lied—at the first note the crowd on the floor surged forward and hit the stage. Bouncers and roadies did their best to keep people from stage diving. It was only half successful. The strobe lighting intensified, mirroring the music blasting from the speakers. 

Arioch hadn't been joking about her involvement, either. She was on her feet immediately, dancing in place. She alternately sang along and screamed.

Toad watched her, amused. The other concert goers, fans of the band, acted exactly the same way. He personally couldn't understand the lyrics—they were too 

loud—but apparently it wasn't a problem for anyone else. 

When she turned to him in between songs, he saw she was sweaty. She pushed a damp lock of hair from her forehead and grinned at him. He returned the smile, and sat back in his chair, feeling—amazingly—like part of something real. Something normal.

Again, it felt odd. But that feeling was slowly fading.

~~~~~

By the time the concert was over, including two encores, Arioch was hoarse and dehydrated. She glanced at the warm, half-finished beer on the table. With a shudder, she took it and drained it in a gulp.

"Still thirsty," she muttered.

Silently Toad offered her his glass. She emptied it as well, and looked for more.

"Come on," said Toad. He stood up and offered his arm. "If you want something else, you need something non alcoholic. You're going to pass out."

"Hey," she croaked. "I'm supposed to be taking you out, not the other way around!"

"Can I at least get you to the door?"

"Okay," she agreed, and took his arm. He supported her as she stumbled down the stairs. They followed the mass of people leaving.

Outside, the fresh air seemed to sober Arioch. Color returned to her cheeks.

"Thanks, Mortimer!" she exclaimed. With no regard to the rabble around them, she grabbed his head and kissed him heartily on the mouth. Her tongue flicked between his lips.

It shocked him enough to cause him to back away. Instead of looking upset or disappointed, Arioch just winked and said, 

"Well, even if you're modest here, I certainly hope it goes away in the hotel room!"

Toad blushed brightly, even though nobody paid them any attention.

Arioch chuckled, took his hand again. "Come on!" She maneuvered him quickly through the crowd. "We'll go hang out by the backstage door. Maybe we'll be able to get the band's autographs as they come out!"

Still shellshocked to be included in something as ordinary as concert going, Toad followed meekly along as they made their way behind the club to wait for the band. Arioch's excitement was interesting to view, and her emotion was contagious. 

But as the tired members of SR-71 exited the building, old habits took over and Toad stepped back into the shadows. Arioch, not realizing he had left her side, waltzed boldly to the four musicians and struck up a quick conversation, in hopes of getting autographs.

As he watched her flirt and laugh with them, Toad felt a sharp pang of bitterness bite into his stomach. No matter how hard he could try to act like a normal human, it would never be real. His physical mutation stunted him, and the truth of the fact hit him as it had never done before. Once again it was if he were outside, looking in, and it hurt.

Toad slunk further back into the shadows. 

The band finally left, and Arioch realized with a start that Toad was not with her. She called for him, worry evident in her voice. When she finally located him, hidden behind boxes and the dumpsters, he flinched slightly away from her hand.

"Mortimer—what's wrong?"

"I need to go back to the Lair. I won't stay the night in this city."

His tone and demeanor surprised her, but his determination was undeniable. He refused to answer any of her questions, and refused to let her touch him. Back at the Lair, he crept away from her. When she tried to stop him, he scurried up the wall, out of her reach. He hurried away, leaving her bewildered.


	6. Arioch 6: Nightmare

Disclaimer: *looks over story* Hey! All this is mine! Woo hoo! It's a different style and voice than is normal for me.

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Arioch 6: Nightmare

Ever have one of those dreams? The dreams that are so real you can't tell they're dreams? The little details make it real: the wind on your face, the smell of cooking odors from restaurants, hearing the pounding of your own footsteps on the cracked pavement. Your shoes pinch. The stranger walking toward you has a disfiguring scar across his face.

Every single aspect in the dream is so focused, when you do snap awake sweaty and disoriented, _reality_ feels wrong. And then the images won't dissipate, no matter how hard you try. Persistent little bastards.

Ever have a dream like that?

I do. All the time. Not every night, thank god. I've found a way to keep my personal incubus at bay. Of course, it's killing me slowly, but hey—I can live with that. Unfortunately, there are times it doesn't work.

My demon came again tonight. 

Fucker.

Shaking, fondling my pearl-handled butterfly knife as if it's a crucifix, I press myself as hard as I can into my mattress. Slowly my sweat is drying, leaving me cold.

Against my feverish wishes, my mind replays the vision over and over and over, as if seeing it with my eyelids closed wasn't enough . . . 

__

. . . the stranger walking towards me has a disfiguring scar across his face. Normally I keep my head down, trying to avoid anyone's attention. It's safer that way, as a girl, and it's one of the first things I learned living on the streets. Too many girls never get the chance to try again if they don't learn the lesson quick.

I've been lucky—I haven't been snatched up by a pimp, and I've been smart enough to not get dependent on crack or heroin or Special K or anything else making its rounds on the streets. I'm not saying that I haven't turned tricks or taken a hit, I'm just saying I've been lucky, and just try to slip by anyone's notice.

The scarred guy sees me look, though. His dead white eye, injured by the slash mark, mimics the functional one, sizing me up and down. An ugly grin splits his face in the other direction.

His appraisal makes my mouth dry, because I've seen that predatory expression before. He can tell I'm nervous, and elbows his companion, pointing in my direction.

I don't wait around to figure out what they want. I turn tail and bolt.

My shoes pinch painfully as I run. I dodge around pedestrians, running as fast as I can. The sounds of heavy footsteps follow me. As well as I know this part of the city, my brain seems numb. I don't know where to run to be safe.

What chance does a 14 year old girl have against two full grown men, anyway?

Still, the survival instinct is strong, and I give it my best. Part of me is still fantasizing about my escape when a broad hand tangles itself in my hair and yanks me backward.

Another hand clasps over my mouth, muting my outcry. Panicked, I struggle and kick. My efforts are met with laughter. Even as I labor to break free I'm dragged into an alley.

Through my fear and sweat, I can see the passersby ignoring my plight. No one seems to see what's happening, going on their way without a second thought. No one takes responsibility, no one cares what happens to a street rat—as long as it doesn't concern them. 

The realization of that makes me more nauseous than knowing what was going to happen to me in the back of the alley.

I'm forced to the end of the alley, behind the industrial dumpsters. Out of sight of anyone who might care that two men were beating and raping a young girl. The scarred man watches as his companion knocks me down with a fist to my face. I hear rather than feel the bones in my nose break, and instantly I'm covered in blood.

Again, I start to fight back, but a knife is pressed under my ear.

"Feel that, bitch?" a guttural voice spits in my face. Carefully I nod. "You move, you get stuck. Got it?"

Carefully I nod again, trying not to whimper.

"Let's see what kinda titties you got under those rags," he says, ripping away my shirt. He fondles me roughly.

Suddenly this seems surreal. I lay passively, as if no longer in control of my own actions. Everything seems distant, even as it is happening.

The guy grins lewdly in my face. "You got little titties. I bet that means your pussy's pretty tight too. Maybe not a virgin, but close enough, eh?" He can suddenly see that I'm not with him. I only stare blankly back. "Fuckin' bitch!"

Somewhere in my mind I realize I'm making him angrier by not fighting back. It doesn't seem to matter. He forces my legs apart with a knee. He attempts to tear though my pants, but they're sturdier than my shirt. With one hand holding the knife to my throat, he can't coordinate the other enough to be effective.

"Hey!" he calls over his shoulder to the scarred man, who has observed all this. "Git over here and do your job!"

As he shuffles over, I realize the blade has been removed from my neck. It startles me through my haze. Slowly, real emotion creeps back into me. I abruptly feel sweaty and cold with fear. Buried far far below is a little ember of rage.

The guy atop me notices. "See, my friend here is a mutant," he tells me in a conversational tone. "Even a fuckin' piece of street trash knows what a mutant is, don't you?" He continues without waiting for my answer. "He paralyzes people. Just by touchin' them—isn't that wild? And he likes to watch little girls get fucked hard.

"I'm just the man to do that for him. We make a pretty good pair, don't we?"

This time I want to answer, to scream and spit and kick, but at that instant the scarred man takes my wrists.

It is true. He holds my arms lightly, almost tenderly. 

And. I. Can't. Move.

I've never felt as panicked before in my life as I do when he paralyzes me. I can't even swallow the blood filling my throat from my broken nose. I can feel my pants being pulled down finally, and hear little grunts of excitement as the man works his way between my thighs again. 

The disfigured guy fills my vision as he leaned over me and grins.

Panic ignites the spark of anger in the back of my brain. Internally I howl, fanning the flame. The pain of being entered makes it explode.

Because I can't close my eyes, I watch the blinding white light erupt from my body. It encompasses myself and the two men. Accompanied by a sound that shatters the windows two stories above us and shakes the ground, the bastards are blown away from me.

The instant the mutant's contact with my skin is broken, I'm free. The light and sound are gone. I roll over, choking, coughing the clots of blood out. I lay still, trying to catch my breath.

What just happened?

I'm finally able to sit up. The men are sprawled across the alley, unmoving. The normal guy's knife was blown from his hand, and I crawl to it. I cradle it to my chest.

Still not understanding what happened, I pull my clothes around me again. I cautiously make my way to the mutant's side. He's unconscious. 

Bitterness leaves a bad taste in my mouth, and the spark of anger flares again. With a quick motion, before I have a chance to think, the blade in my hand flashes out and punctures through the lid of his good eye. The pain awakens him, but now he's more concerned with his blindness than grabbing me. 

I make my way to his companion, and stab both his eyes. As he screams, I spit in his face.

Their screams follow me as I limp my way out of the alley . . .

. . . their screams follow me as I jerk myself awake at night. I always sleep with the little pearl handled butterfly knife I swiped from that prick, as if it could save me from the demon memory.

It never does.

I don't know why I can't convince myself it's actually a good dream-memory: I got away, and I learned I have a mutation that will protect me, even involuntarily. I also learned a little something about myself . . . I can coldly, easily, take someone's sight. I can coldly, easily, take someone's life. I've used that knowledge to provide my livelihood.

Oh.

Fucker.

Where is that whiskey?


	7. Arioch 7: Daimonikos

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to Marvel and/or 20th Century Fox. Any others are _mine_, _all mine . . . _Sorry. Got a bit carried away. Also deepest apologies for dredging up another old character of mine, Nocturne. 

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Arioch 7: Daimonikos

Arioch hadn't been right the last few weeks, Toad thought again to himself. Something's wrong.

He couldn't discover what it was. Even as close as they'd become. Still afraid of rejection, still not confident enough to directly confront her, he watched her grow distant. She had become secretive. She'd made numerous trips to the mainland without an escort and, to his knowledge, without Magnus's permission. Her drinking, which had slowed considerably, picked up again.

He watched her change, and didn't know what to do.

Toad wanted to swipe the bottles of alcohol away from her. He wanted to demand to accompany her to New York, or demand she tell him what she did there. He wanted to force her to look at herself in a mirror, to see how wane and sallow she'd become. He wanted to shake her awake when she cried out in sleep.

Instead, he silently watched amber liquid disappear down her throat. He held her while she slept, not waking her, until her thrashings and outbursts subsided each night.

He was worried. He was scared. He wished his resolve were stronger so he could make her understand how she upset him; he wished he could make her understand he would do anything for her, to make her better.

Anything at all.

But paralyzed by his insecurities, Toad only watched.

~~~~~

Steadily drinking whiskey one night a few days later, Arioch glanced at a clock and literally jumped up.

"Ohshit!" she slurred. "I gotta go."

Toad, who'd been observing her, feeling helpless, hurried after her as she made her way to the door.

"Quinn—don't," he urged. Even to himself he was unsure what he was asking. He reformed the statement. "Please don't leave again."

She ignored him, stumbling slightly as she walked.

Immediately Toad was at her side, supporting her carefully. She looked so pale. "Please," he repeated, a pleading tone evident in his voice. "Don't leave. You're so weak—"

"I'm not weak!"

Harsh words usually made him cringe, and this time was no exception. Toad willfully steeled himself and tried again.

"Quinn, dearest, I . . . I didn't mean weak. But you're so—unsteady. And tired. I know you haven't been sleeping well . . . I don't want anything to happen to you . . ."

Arioch turned to him. Her normally bright eyes were dull and more sunken than he realized. Dark circles decorated her face underneath them. Toad swallowed passed the lump in his throat.

"I—I'm worried about you, Quinn. I want to keep you safe. I—I think I've fallen in love with you. I _know_ I've fallen in love with you." If the revelation startled her, it didn't show on her face. The pleading in Toad's voice returned. "Don't go. Please. Stay with me—I'll take care of you! I'll make you better!"

"I have to go." Even her voice was colorless.

"I'll keep you safe," he insisted, feverishly. "Whatever is going on, I'll help you through it. Just stay here, with me, and I'll do anything, anything—"

"Mortimer," she interrupted, "I'm sorry. You can't help me with this. I have to do this on my own."

"What? What do you have to do that I can't help you with?"

She only shook her head sadly. Tears welled up in her eyes.

Crestfallen, Toad felt burning tears fill his eyes as well. He dropped his gaze from hers and felt the tears streak down his cheeks. Biting his lip, he managed to lift his head to look at her again.

"Then let me come with you," he said quietly.

"Mortimer—"

"Let me come and make sure you're okay! Let me help you, Quinn!"

Her tears fell too. "I'm so sorry," Arioch whispered. Her hand reached up and brushed the wetness from his jaw. It was trembling. "It's too dangerous . . . I don't want you to be hurt."

He made a sound of protest, but she silenced him with fingers on his lips.

"I promise," she continued, "I promise this is the end. I promise I'll be back, and won't . . . do this again."

"You said it was dangerous!" he accused, forcing the words passed her fingertips. "And you won't let me go with you so I won't get hurt! But what about you? Why can't I be sure you won't be hurt?"

Again she shook her head. "I can't let you come with me. No. I'll be fine, Mortimer. It's dangerous, yes, but I've gone so far that it'll be okay for me." Arioch saw his confused expression and answered his question before he spoke it. "No, I can't explain right now. Maybe later, when I'm back. Okay?"

"No, it's not okay." The conviction in his own voice startled him.

Arioch heard it too, and it seemed to make her more unhappy. She repeated, "I'm so sorry . . .." and turned away from him again. Shaking off his hands, she made her way to the door and slipped through it without a backward look.

Toad bit his lip, harder—hard enough to taste the salt in his blood coat his tongue. Sucking on the wound, he blinked back the tears that threatened to fall again. He stared at the closed door for a moment, willing Arioch to come back. When she didn't, he purposefully strode out the door, after her.

~~~~~

He trailed behind her. The city made him uncomfortable and nervous. He stayed as far in the shadows as he could, to be unnoticed by the crowds she traveled through. She made her way to Rosebud.

Toad saw her brush passed the bouncer, Otis, then was at a loss of what to do. He didn't want to go into the club—Otis or Russell the bartender would recognize him, and alert Arioch to his presence. He located a nearby fire escape and easily leapt to the lowest horizontal bars. With his back resting against the filthy bricks of the building, he crouched, motionless, to wait.

Waiting and watching was no difficulty; he had had years of practice. The club closed at 2 a.m., and it was now just an hour before. Arioch wouldn't be here long, and Toad was determined to follow her no matter where she went. 

No, waiting was no problem.

~~~~~

Shrouded by his perch, Toad inspected each patron as they left the bar. Arioch hadn't come out yet, even after the flow trickled to nothing. Four, five minutes passed without another person coming through the door. Toad's anxiety rose. When another two minutes passed, he gripped the rail of the fire escape and gently flipped himself over it.

Arioch exited the building at the same moment. Quickly, Toad readjusted his grasp and held on, instead of dropping to the ground and having the noise of a landing startling her. He pulled himself up awkwardly and hooked his feet through the iron bars to give himself more support. 

Arioch paused by Otis. Toad could see they were speaking, but was too far away to hear their hushed voices. He watched the huge black man right himself, and saw him put a heavy arm around Arioch's shoulders. The two started down the street.

They passed very close to his hiding spot. Bristling with rage, Toad considered dropping himself atop the obese man. He knew exactly where to land to instantly snap a man's neck. He knew exactly where to land to break a back, and make him suffer. He bit his lip, sending dull pain through it again, and considered his options.

"Don' you worry 'bout nothin', Quinn," he heard Otis say. "This is it. The last step—everythin'll be right after tanight."

He saw her nod. Under the streetlights she looked paler than ever, only a gaunt version of her former self.

Toad still felt the urge to drop on Otis and feel the wet crack of his spine breaking underfoot, but curiosity overrode his anger. He let them pass without making a sound. When they had gone far enough down the block to not notice his landing, he let the railing go. His bent legs absorbed the impact on the concrete, and he hurried after them.

~~~~~

The two ahead of him made an odd couple. Otis's fleshy arm threatened to overwhelm Arioch's slender frame.

'Too thin,' Toad thought as he followed a block behind them. He dwelled on the fact that her ribs stood out painfully now, causing his fingertips to skip over her skin when he soothed her at night. 'She's too thin . . .."

Lost in anxiety, he almost missed noticing Arioch and Otis entering a large, but broken down, apartment building. By the time he sped to the outer door, the two had disappeared somewhere within the slum.

"Shit!" thought Toad to himself. "How will I find them now?!"

The mailboxes located in the foyer were no help; those that hadn't been ripped from the wall were covered in graffiti. Chewing fretfully on a ragged fingernail, Toad decided his only course of action was to walk through the apartment building and try to find them. Hopefully no one would see him . . . he sighed and began slowly pacing the hallways of the first floor.

~~~~~

He needn't have worried about being seen or recognized. Many of the lightbulbs in the overhead sockets were missing. The entire place was cloaked in shadows. It reminded him vaguely of the lair.

Most of the closed doors he passed had no light shining underneath. Toad quickly discovered that unlit doors were unlocked and the apartments within were vandalized. He didn't open any more after the first few demonstrated their inoccupancy. 

He did, however, pause outside doors with light coming from under the ill-fitting doors. These apartments were infrequent. Noises he heard from inside sounded normal: TVs, people arguing. None that he stopped beside had any evidence that Arioch and her companion were inside.

Feeling more and more discouraged, the sour taste of fear made his mouth dry. What if they left the building? What if he had only imagined he saw them enter? What if he did find them? What if—?

Toad's train of thought derailed as a tortured cry—Quinn?!—cut through the air.

Instantly his worst horrors came to mind, and heedless if anyone heard or saw him, Toad darted down the hallway. In the back of his mind he realized a deathly quiet had come over the building. His own running footsteps pounded too loudly over the ancient floorboards.

Skidding to a halt in front of the door he thought the scream had come from, Toad barely righted himself before kicking it off its hinges.

The scene inside was horrible, confusing. He jerked himself to a stop just inside the door, frozen in place, trying to comprehend the situation before him.

Arioch lay motionless on the bare floor, mostly naked, covered in—oh god, no, it can't be!—blood. Thick chalk dust hung like silt in the air. Candles, so many that it made Toad blink, lit the room. Their flames flickered with the intrusion of wind from the hallway. Odd, vaguely familiar odors—lavender, coppery semen, fire, old leather—permeated the room.

Otis sat in a corner, giggling. The twitter caught Toad's attention, and he was able to tear his gaze from Arioch, still immobile on the floor.

"What the fuck did you do to her?" he screamed.

"It came—it was here—here!" the obese black man sang aloud, rocking in time with the syllables. He clutched a gun to his chest. "It worked, it worked, it worked—"

"What did you do to her?!" Toad screamed again, panic raising his voice.

Otis seemed to suddenly notice Toad in the room. He turned fevered eyes to the smaller mutant. "—it worked! I knew it would, no one'd lissen ta Otis, no one, no one—no one—"

"Shut up!" demanded Toad.

He paid no attention, still rocking. "Otis said it would work, an' it did! Saw it with my own two eyes—my own two eyes—"

Otis turned his gaze back to the middle of the floor. Transfixed with whatever he saw there, his words disintegrated into a mindless howl. Before Toad could respond to anything else, Otis put the barrel of the gun in his mouth.

"My own two eyes," he managed to say around the steel, and pulled the trigger. 

~~~~~

Toad wasn't able to piece everything together in his own mind after that. What had only been a few seconds after kicking down the door stretched endlessly. 

He remembered watching Otis's last moment. His mind settled on a little something; something tangible. The gun. The gun was Arioch's, and his mind knew she would get in trouble if they traced it back to her. So cautiously, not really knowing how he crossed the room, Toad removed the revolver from the dead man's floppy hand, and slipped it into his waistband.

Quinn. Quinn. Help Quinn. 

Still working on automatic pilot, Toad found himself back at her side. He was vaguely aware that precise chalk emblems had been drawn on the floor surrounding her, and was sorry he mussed them. More chalk dust in the air made it hazy.

Quinn.

Kneeling beside her, feeling vertigo as real time eased it's way back to him, Toad was at a loss. She was unconscious. The blood that coated her was fresh and shiny. Her chest moved very very slightly with her breath.

Toad pulled his own hair in his indecision. What happened? Why wasn't he here to protect her? What did that bastard Otis do to her? 

She needed help now—but where could he take her? Back at the lair Mystique was the best with medical problems, but she didn't like Arioch. Never had. Where could he take her? Not a hospital. They didn't treat mutants. Hadn't Magneto always said that? But Quinn didn't look mutant. They would treat her like a normal person. Could he take her to a hospital and leave her there? Leave her without anyone seeing him?

He pounded his fists into his forehead. No! He wasn't leaving her alone again! Not in a hospital, not anywhere!

Cursing himself, in tears with his own indecisiveness, Toad carefully—so carefully—slipped his jacket around her. He gathered her to him. She made no motion, and hung limp in his arms. She felt so cold.

With only half an answer forming in his head, Toad hurried away, leaving the dead man and bewildering atmosphere of the dark room behind him.

~~~~~

"Angel? Angel, wake up . . .."

"I heard too."

"You stay behind me. Got it?"

A snort. "Of course, dearest . . .."

"Sarcasm? This early in the mornin'?"

Another snort, disguised with a chuckle.

~~~~~

Toad felt as if he could have no more tears left, but more insisted on coming. With blurry vision and unclear thoughts, he had made his way to the closest place that could be considered safe for mutants—Professor Xavier's Institute.

Confronted with heavy iron gates, he simply vaulted over. He could barely make out the huge mansion in the dusk. He felt drained and close to exhaustion. Doggedly, however, he started up the long driveway.

"Where do you think you're goin', bub?" a gruff voice said beside him.

Consumed with Arioch, Toad was startled by the utterance.

"I—I—" he stuttered, stepping sideways. "I n-need help!"

"You take one more step an' you'll need a lotta help," Wolverine replied harshly. 

Toad heard the unmistakable sound of blades sliding out for use.

"Pl-please!" Toad pleaded, desperately. "Quinn—she's hurt badly! She needs help—I didn't know where else to take her!"

Wolverine stepped forward, into Toad's vision. The movement was feral and unexpected. He inspected Toad carefully, then turned his attention to the still unconscious Arioch.

"What'd you do ta her?"  
"Nothing! I would never—she's my—my—" A sob choked him off before he could complete the sentence.

With his nose telling him more than words, Wolverine believed him. The amphibian mutant's scent was solid, sticky hysteria and sweat. The desperation in it made Wolverine's lip curl. The woman was covered in blood, fresh blood, but under it he could tell the two had shared a bed, at least. They smelled the same. Faintly. 

Toad stood nervously before him, shifting from foot to foot.

Wolverine felt a gentle push, and Professor Xavier was with him.

::Let them pass, Logan,:: Charles whispered. ::He's telling the truth, and the woman needs immediate medical attention.::  
"I know!" Wolverine spit aloud, startling Toad again. To the taller mutant he said, "Come on. Chuck says ta git ta the house. Nocturne!"

A wolf, as black as the night, materialized on Toad's other side. 

"Nocturne'll help keep her warm," explained Wolverine shortly. "Yer girlfriend's temp is almost down ta dead." Toad looked panicked. "Put her on Nocturne's back—you jog along beside her and keep her steady. Got it? An' you better move fast—Nocturne'll out run you before you know it."

The wolf watched him with narrowed hazel eyes, but stood steadfast as Toad gently placed Arioch on her back. Immediately he could feel the warmth radiating from the wolf.

"I'm watchin' you, Toad," Wolverine growled before they started off. "I'm tailin' you every step of the way. You make one wrong move an' Arioch ain't the only one who'll be needin' the med lab.

"Ready, angel? Let's go!"

Wolverine slipped behind Nocturne and Toad as they started off. Before they were too far ahead, he faintly heard Toad call back,   
"Thank you . . .."

It surprised him. A silent moment in thought passes, and he hurried to follow.

~~~~~

His constant vigil exhausted him, but he refused to fall asleep. This place made him more nervous than he imagined it would. He knew the X-men were monitoring them, no matter what they insisted about the private recovery rooms. He wouldn't let sleep come, in case Arioch woke up. He wanted know the second her eyes opened.

Toad, his brain tired, rubbed his eyes. The trip through the mansion had been surreal. Nocturne carried Arioch easily to the foyer, where it seemed most of the X-men team had gathered.

'In case what was happening was simply a ruse to get in the house,' Toad thought resentfully.

Beast had given Arioch a cursory exam and conferred quietly with Professor Xavier. Toad couldn't hear most of what transpired, and didn't understand many of the words he did catch. When the larger mutant came closer and told him that she needed to be taken to the med lab, Toad watched him suspiciously. Beast made a motion to take Arioch from the wolf's back, and Toad exploded.

He knocked the larger mutant away with a well placed kick to the knee, and shouted,

"No one touches her but me!"

Toad sensed the wolf tense beside him, and whipped his head around to stare her down. Again the hazel eyes narrowed, and her lips pulled back to expose her teeth, but she didn't move. Satisfied, he spun to face Wolverine, who'd silently come up behind him. He sunk to a crouch as they did, not even questioning if he could take on the beserker. He could feel stress building throughout the foyer, but focused on the two X-men closest to him.

"Stop this," the Professor's mild voice cut through. "Mortimer, you came to us asking for help. We offer it, but you must put aside your fears and allow us to work."

No one moved.

"Every second you take while deciding is a second Quinn is not receiving medical care."

That statement caught his attention. Abruptly, but no less warily, Toad stood upright.

"Thank you," Charles said sincerely. He motioned to Beast, who had gotten to his feet again and was massaging his bruised joint. "Henry, please escort Mortimer and Quinn to your facilities. Mortimer can transport her. I will join you. Logan, you and Alexis may go. As may everyone else," he informed the anxious crowd on the main staircase.

"Professor!" Cyclops exclaimed. He stared pointedly at Toad, his expression easy to read.

"Scott, thank you for your concern. I believe there will be no further outbursts. Correct?"

Sullenly, Toad nodded. Carefully he lifted Arioch from Nocturne's back.

"Excellent!"

"But—"

Before he could protest more, Charles and Jean both reassured him mentally. Cyclops gave a reserved sigh and a curt nod. Wolverine and Nocturne slipped back out the massive front doors. The rest of the team—Jubilee, Nightcrawler, Jean, Gambit, and Rogue—trudged slowly upstairs, following Cyclops

Toad followed a limping Beast to the elevator. He glanced up at the retreating team as he went. Jubilee made cagey eye contact with him. He could read the speculations in her face, and gave the girl a sneer. She dropped her gaze and quickened her pace.

~~~~~

In the med lab, under the bright surgical lights, Toad noticed the weariness evident in both the X-men. He felt fatigue gnawing at him too, but struggled to hide it. He watched as Beast made a careful examination of Arioch's body. The huge man gently removed her clothing and used warm water to cleanse her. The sponge in use was rinsed and wrung out several times, leaving red tinged puddles in the nearby sink.

Finally, he was done.

"Mr. Toynbee," Beast said in his soothing, baritone voice, "there appear to be no physical wounds present on Quinn. I can only surmise the blood was not hers."

Toad gripped the edge of the table and stared down at her. Once again, tears hazed his vision. "Then what's wrong with her?" he demanded. "Why won't she wake up?"

"Tests need to be run," replied Beast. "We have the facilities to run blood tests and MRIs, as well as exams that can be tailored to the specific mutant."

The immense stress of the passed few weeks suddenly loomed in Toad's mind and threatened to overwhelm him. He hadn't ever been groomed to be in a position of decision-making. As he tried vainly to think coherently, to make the right choice, the room seemed to blur. 

Toad pushed himself away from the surgical table and stumbled backward. His back hit a wall and he crumbled to the floor, to his customary crouch. He simultaneously covered his face with his hands and pulled his hair. A thin keening moan escaped his lips.

Beast looked to the Professor. The older man maneuvered his hover chair to Toad. He placed his hand on the green-skinned mutant's shoulder, and felt the immediate flinch. Toad didn't look up at him.

"Would you like us to conduct preliminary tests on Quinn, Mortimer?" Charles asked him softly.

"Can you make her better?" he replied franticly. "Can you find out what's wrong? Can you make her wake up?"

"We will do our best," Charles assured him, catching Hank's eye with a slight nod. Hank returned it and left the room. "Now, Mortimer—you look exhausted. Why don't you come with me—"

His response was immediate. "No! I have to stay with her! If I'd been with her, this wouldn't have happened—I could have helped her!"

The Professor wondered briefly what did transpire, and tried again. "Please, Mortimer. You can have a shower, and a brief rest, and you'll be back before Henry has completed his tests—"

"No! I'm staying here!" 

Mentally sighing, Charles paused a moment. "Then may I offer you something to drink, to help keep you awake? Coffee, tea—?"

With no pressure to leave, Toad calmed visibly. "Tea would be nice."

The wheelchair bound man nodded again. "Very well. Tea will be sent down. I'll stay too, will that be all right? I would like to hear what did happen tonight. Would that be acceptable to you?"

Another decision. Charles Xavier, asking his permission to stay. 

In Toad's silence, Charles continued in a softer voice. 

"I can feel how deeply you care for her," he sympathized. "And how anxious this situation is for you. I can help ease your worries, if you would like me to."

The idea of someone traipsing around inside his private thoughts unnerved him. "You can be here," Toad replied loudly. "But stay out of my head."

"Of course."

~~~~~

The testing took a few hours. Arioch lay as if dead through it all. The Professor didn't leave Toad's side the entire time, asking questions regarding the events leading up to them being outside the gates. In the end, unable to articulate accurately what happened in the apartment building, Toad allowed Charles to telepathically experience it.

It felt odd, to know someone else was seeing what he remembered. Toad was glad when he felt the gentle pressure behind his eyes disappeared.

Charles looked troubled as he exited Toad's thoughts. Before he could express his concern, however, Beast finished the last of his preliminary testing.

"The MRI is complete," he announced. Toad turned to him expectantly. "It will take more time to interpret the results from the machines, however. As it is nearly dawn, I suggest moving Quinn to a private room. There is a chance she may awaken before the results are complete."

"I can stay with her?"

"Of course," Charles replied immediately. "I think that would be best, don't you, Henry?"

"Absolutely."

So they had given them a private room, complete with a bathroom, in the recovery room of the med lab.

"Please tell me when you have any answers," Toad beseeched them as the two X-men made to leave the room.

They both nodded.

"You're safe here, Mortimer," Charles assured him. "Nothing will happen to Quinn while she's here. You can relax. Freshen up, and later I'll have breakfast sent down."

But even once they left and closed the door behind them Toad refused to leave her side. Arioch, still unconscious, looked vulnerable and deathly pale in the hospital bed. The Professor had advised him to relax, and his body screamed for sleep, but he denied himself of it, to watch her.


	8. Arioch 8: Dead Dead Dead, Indeed

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to Marvel and/or 20th Century Fox. Any others jockey for position in my head.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Arioch 8: Dead, Dead, Dead Indeed

When a soft tapping rattled the door, Toad snapped awake. In spite of his resolve he'd slept, and silently berated himself for it. The hard-backed chair he'd remained in was unforgiving as well, and his neck cracked in protest as he lifted it.

Arioch hadn't moved.

The tap came again. Anxiously Toad watched to see if the noise would awaken her. When it didn't, he muzzled a moan and sat back in his chair.

The gentle knock didn't come again; instead, the door opened and Beast entered.

"How is she?" he asked without preliminaries. He walked to the foot of the bed.

"You tell me," Toad spit back, "you're the genius. Why hasn't she woken up yet? What's wrong with her? What did the tests say?"

Beast pursed his lips and took a moment before replying. "The testing is inconclusive, Mr. Toynbee."

"What? What does that mean?" Panic crept near the edges of Toad's voice.

"It means that I haven't discovered why Quinn is unconscious. According to every piece of equipment, there is nothing wrong with her. Her heart rate is regular, her blood pressure is normal. Her MRI revealed nothing abnormal. Technically, she is fit."

"Then why won't she wake up?!"

For that, Beast had no answer.

Eventually, after taking another pulse and respiration count, Beast left. Again Toad sat alone, silently watching Arioch. He willed her to open her eyes.

She didn't.

~~~~~

Later, bearing food, the Professor knocked on the door. When he received no answer, he pushed the door open without invitation.

At the sight, he quickly set the serving tray down and maneuvered into the room, calling telepathically for Beast.

The sheets and blankets covering Arioch were soaked with blood. A small puddle was forming near the bed, dripping down from saturated fabric.

Toad sat stoned beside the bed.

"More keeps coming," he said aloud, dazed.

Charles saw a red blossom form spontaneously on Arioch's cheek. Fresh blood flowed from it, making a rivulet to the pillow.

Beast rushed into the room and allowed his medical knowledge and training to take over; automatically he stripped away the sodden blankets to assess the unconscious woman. Like the night before, there were no wounds on her body. The blood oozed from the pores on her skin.

"Quick—she needs relocated to the wet table," Beast ordered. "She can be washed down and a transfusion can be started."

Charles mentally called for members of the team to help.

Toad still sat immobile, watching. There was no emotion on his face.

Beast shouldered him aside roughly to reach Arioch. The second he lay his hands on her, she seizured.

Struggling to hold the convulsing body, realizing it was imperative to get to the lab, Beast roared,

"Charles, move!"

The Professor barely moved his hover chair out of the way before the blue mutant shoved passed him, through the door. The blood still poured from her body, leaving a trail behind them. Arioch was still in the throes of a grand mal seizure when she was placed on the wet table.

The first X-man to arrive was Rogue, looking shocked at the carnage.

"Rogue! Help me!" commanded Beast. "Grab that emergency kit and come here! Hold her while I get the diazepam—"

Rogue, still looking stunned, complied. She took Arioch's arms and forced her down. "What about her tongue? What if she swallows it—"

"That doesn't happen!" Beast snapped, preoccupied with the vial and syringe. "Don't hold her too tight, Rogue—you're too strong and you can fracture her—"

There was the unmistakable wet crack of bone breaking as Arioch continued to seize.

"—arms," he finished.

"Oh my god!" Rogue cried. "Ah broke her arm! Oh my god!"

"We'll deal with it later. Later! Rogue—look at me. You can't let go. I'm going to give her an injection. Okay? Rogue, don't let go."

Rogue dropped her head but nodded, trying not to feel the grinding sensation of bone on bone under her gloved hand. She felt ready to vomit.

Uttering a silent prayer that he had had the foresight to leave Arioch's intravenous catheter in, Beast injected the drug. Almost immediately, Arioch's convulsions slowed, and then stopped.

In the sudden quiet, the monotonous drip-drip-drip of still flowing blood seemed loud.

Rogue dropped Arioch's arms quickly, and Beast heaved a sigh of relief.

Arioch trembled. Her eyelids fluttered. Without warning, she retched clotted blood from her mouth and nose. It merged with the gore on her body and in her hair. She was suddenly still.

Beast watched for half a second, then scrambled for the stethoscope at the end of the table. Holding the bell to her chest, his eyes widened. He heard no heart beat.

"Rogue—pull over the oxygen cart right now!"

But she stood stunned, even as Beast started CPR. Each push forced more blood from her mouth. How much more could possibly be in there? Beast thought morbidly. He continued automatically, five pumps, pause, two breaths, pause, five pumps, pause, two breaths, pause, five pumps—

"She's dead."

The soft voice startled him. His rhythm broken, he looked over.

Toad stood with hunched shoulders, taking everything in with hooded eyes. Charles moved to place a hand on him, but he flinched away.

"She's dead," he repeated.

Unsure if his words were a question, Beast flicked a glance at the Professor, then said quietly, "Yes. She is."

Beast realized his hands were still in position on her chest. He pulled them away quickly as Toad shuffled to the table. Rogue was very quietly weeping.

His hands hanging limply at his sides, Toad looked down on the body. Her broken arm hung at an awkward angle off the edge of the table. He picked it up, unnerved by the unresponsiveness, and moved it beside her. He ran two fingers down her face, leaving clean trails through the blood behind.

He felt nothing.

Standing and staring at her, he gradually became aware that the Professor was speaking. His voice sounded far away, muffled. He spoke of cleaning Quinn, of arranging for burial, of cremation, of the pain of loss, of sympathy and comfort—

He felt nothing.

—of trying to discover what happened in that dark room, of autopsies, of testing, of support—

He felt nothing.

Eventually the voice faded even softer. Toad stared at her body, etching the image into his memory until it blotted out all the others. Once again his fingers traced her jaw. His eyes felt hot.

Toad pushed himself back from the table, a parody of the night before. His legs felt leaden, but he forced himself away. Ignoring Professor Xavier, and Beast, and Rogue, he stumbled to the doors.

He found his way to the foyer and outside, leaving the mansion behind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

__

Author's note:

This is for everyone who has written and asked me for more on Arioch, or wanted more explanation about the ending. 

I sincerely thank everyone who enjoyed this story. It was great fun for me to write (I got to try out different things with it), and Quinn/Arioch became one of my favorite characters too.

Apologies are in order for the abruptness of the end, and the unanswered questions it posed. I won't go into the reasons for it—and trust me, there were some—but I personally liked the idea of Toad wandering off in a shocked haze. Disappointment, depression, hatred, and confusion are (unfortunately) what Mortimer is all about. Having him stumble away leaves everyone to come up with their own 'true' ending, and I promise nothing I could have written afterward can compare with what you've come up with.

(See? It's an exercise in imagination!)

That being said, because I liked Quinn quite a lot, I wanted to use her more. So I did. 

She was resurrected from the dead (actually, there is no mention of any ritual or involvement with the X-men) and has been put to use in another story posted on this site, entitled, _"Oddly Enough."_

It focuses mainly on her, includes Toad, and to make things interesting, the Lone Gunmen from X-files play a large role too. I believe it makes her character more well-rounded, plus gives a bit more background.

Again, **thank you thank you thank you** everyone for all your support and your obvious enjoyment. There's nothing that makes me happier than to know someone else had a good time.

humbly yours, 

Hoodoo


End file.
